Memoirs
by kingofthewilderwest
Summary: My complete collection of HTTYD drabbles. All are written from request prompts. Many drabbles focus on Hiccup in his early twenties. Content includes fluffy nothings between best buds, Hiccstrid moments, post-HTTYD 2 traumas, horrific tragedies, and more. Each drabble has its own specified rating at the top of each page. Feel free to send requests in reviews or on tumblr!
1. Fishing for Trolls

**Fishing for Trolls [Rating: K]**

He could see his own face in the still water.

It was a quiet little stream which meandered through Berk's thick forest to the ocean shores, and a merry one, in its own ways, merely contentedly drifting between mossy rocks with not a care in the world.

If only Hiccup could feel as calm as the stream.

For he could see his own face in the still water, and while the water was tranquil, Hiccup's own countenance could not be more raw in grief.

Sometimes fish below the shallow surface of the stream splashed beneath his mirrored image, distorting his face with dancing ripples. His reflection then wavered. His pained expression, however, remained a constant.

If anything, it hurt more to see the fish.

Toothless appeared to be of the opposite mind. As soon as he noticed the small swimmers in the water, he eagerly plunged his head into the stream. He did not manage to catch anything, though; thus Toothless sat back upright, staring intently, intently, intently at the water, not even daring to blink for fear of missing movement. At times Toothless twitched, almost diving back in, but the fish did not reappear.

"Toothless. No. Don't," Hiccup mumbled as the dragon started yet again – at a drifting twig now, not a fish. The dragon turned to stare at the young Viking man and cocked his head curiously to one side, eyes wide with concern. He then returned attention to the stream, but this time to try to understand at what Hiccup stared.

It was just the reflection of the two of them in that stream. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Hiccup remembered when there were other faces in that water.

Neither had been happy at the time, yet Hiccup's memory of the event was nostalgic nonetheless. Suddenly he could not only see the faces, but hear a high squeaky voice of a young boy, the deep gruff voice of a thick-bearded man, and the swish of two fishing poles being laid out before them.

The recollected reflections in the water spoke.

"But I'm booooored."

"You have to be patient to catch fish, Hiccup." The father's deep voice was barely straining onto patience at this point, despite the fact he was attempting to lecture on that same virtue.

"Whaddif I don' wanna catch fish?"

"Son, we're going fishing. That's what we do when we fish."

"But the guys who use those boats to get fish… don' they geddenough?"

"The fishermen who row into the ocean to fish _do_ get enough fish to feed the entire village."

"Then this is stupid. I wanna look for trolls."

A boy stepped up and defiantly marched away from the quiet stream. His reflection in the waters disappeared.

But Hiccup's adult face remained.

So did Toothless'.

Toothless probably had his own memories circulating through his head, similarly unwanted, similarly painful. Hiccup remembered the dragon attempting to fish in the cove back when he first lost his left tailfin and lived, alone and abandoned. The dragon had been frightened and in pain himself for those times he fished. Probably, there was much more to his past – and much more hurt – than Hiccup himself knew about Toothless.

The dragon had not caught anything at the time, either.

Hiccup and Toothless could both see their faces in the water, and both their expressions were grim.

But even as they both stared at their mirrored images… they made eye contact.

Neither were alone.

For the first time, the stream reflected back the image of smiles.


	2. Claw Snag

**Claw Snag [Rating: K]**

**Also posted separately on this website.**

Some days fared far better than others.

On the good days, he could step amongst the streets of Berk, walk up and down the pebbled pathways with mental stillness if not full mental ease; could greet Hooligans around him with a smile and nod; could speak collectedly at councils and meetings; and could find laughter and kisses with Astrid, teasing words and tender touches, play at Dragon Racing games, and all in all feel the vibrancy of being a hale young man. A young village leader. For inevitably, even on the good days, he found himself pressed under a near overwhelming number of duties.

The busyness helped him, in truth.

But despite the cycle of good days and bad days and every gradient in between, the nights invariably were harsh. He could keep himself occupied or piggyback on the company of friendly Viking souls during daylight, but no one was around him at nights to busy his spirits. Nothing but dark thoughts visited after sunset.

Chief Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third rolled over in bed with a belabored sigh.

Though his father's rumbly, bear-like snores had always kept Hiccup awake in the past, now that the house fell completely silent at night every night, he found himself sleeping worse. Sleeping little. Thoughts, thoughts, unwelcome thoughts plagued him, prevented internal rest; images more real than the bedpost just beyond him flashed across his mind's eye; and the horrid, high-pitched banshee screech of a killing blast still rang through Hiccup's ears.

Toothless somehow had understood and gone to sleeping outside these pasts two weeks.

The flashbacks could hit hard, after all. And the nightmares, too, when sleep in its rare moments came. Then Hiccup would wake to the mental image of a blast torpedoing to his chest – or, even worse, the squelch of heated blood from Astrid's body dripping between his fingers.

It might have been for the best sleep evaded him now.

Briefly, upon sitting up and curling his blanket around him, Hiccup pondered if his other still were awake, yet after glancing through his window and spying a late moon amongst midnight stars, he dismissed the mental inquiry. Valka would be fast asleep now. Undoubtedly. He needed not step down the stairs to the first floor and check.

Sighing yet again, Hiccup pulled himself down supine yet again, rested his head on his pillow, and rolled over to get comfortable.

Then turned over immediately again to revert his attention to the window.

An upside-down head and a pair of glowing bug-eyed pupils peered into the house.

Toothless. Checking up on him. Perfect time for a best friend to arrive.

"Hey bud," Hiccup murmured quietly, voice croaking. "You can't sleep either?"

The suspended dragon head poking through the window cocked his head to one side, then rumbled quietly in his throat to answer an affirmative. He followed that comment up with an inquisitive moan.

"Yes, I'm doing fi –" Hiccup stopped before his tongue completed the lie. He answered "fine" to near enough any polite Hooligan who asked over his own wellbeing, yet his best friend deserved the truth. Staring up to the dragon's bright yellow-green eyes, Hiccup responded, "It's a bit tough right now. Like every night."

The dragon dropped down into the room and padded over to Hiccup's bed. He prodded the chief's arm with his nose.

"I was hoping it'd be a little easier, now – now – now –" his voice cracked "– that it's been about a month. Sometimes, though, it's almost worse."

Toothless nudged him again. Hiccup removed his arm from Toothless' reach and rolled over.

"Couldn't I at least get one night off from… from all this?"

The bed suddenly jolted, two legs bucking off the ground like a rearing bull. With a gasp, Hiccup slid into Toothless, who had plopped both his front feet on the very edge of the bed and tipped it toward himself. He pressed his nose insistently into Hiccup's rib and began groaning.

"Toothless! Toothless, no! What – what are you doing?"

_Thunk._ That latest nose shove dunked the chief on the floor, head and knees crashing to the wood below, rear sticking up like a small mountain peak.

"_Toothless_," Hiccup hissed, pulling himself out of the undignified bent position and standing upright to glare. The Night Fury sat down, wiggled his hindquarters, and rustled his wings. Two pupils stared beggingly at Hiccup. Each wide iris could have been larger than the moon outside. Shifting impatiently, Toothless moved his eyesight briefly to the saddle plopped in the corner of the room, then reverted his stare to the baffled, bleary-eyed Viking.

"You… want to fly? _Now?"_

Toothless burbled a "yes".

"But it – it's – everyone's sleeping! You should be, too!"

Toothless whacked his tail adamantly against the floor.

"Okay! Okay! Shhhh. You don't want to wake Mom. You've convinced me… I'm coming." The chief quietly pulled a thicker vest over his tunic and bent down to adjust the setting on his peg leg. "Let's fly."

Toothless took him immediately south – not even letting his rider provide any say on the matter – and soared down to a quiet location containing a mirror of still water bathed in moonshadow. Short smooth-faced rock cliffs surrounded the cove water; the rest of the area was blanketed in grass and speckled with liberal clusters of deciduous trees and stoic pines.

Old memories flooded Hiccup's mind.

"The cove… where we first became friends."

He recognized at once why Toothless had taken him here. Why the dragon so insistently had forced him out of bed in the first place. He wanted to comfort Hiccup and remind him of happier times.

Of course that past had strayed far from perfect, too. Hiccup had hated masquerading as a dragon killer amongst the Vikings while visiting his secret friend here. Anxiety frequently had clouded the teenager's mind as he feared someone would discover his double life, while a desire to be accepted by _anyone_ tugged his heart another way. And his father, while still alive at the time, had been far from supportive.

But… but here in this cove, here in this milk-washed, moonlit world, Hiccup had found internal peace. Rest. Rejuvenation. Acceptance. Happiness. Laughter. Friendship.

He stared out at the shallow water now, mulling over those old times.

They were gone in many respects. That childhood was over. Nevertheless, that friendship which began in the cove still lived today.

And it had _grown._

Gratitude washed over Hiccup, and with a bit of returned energy and a bittersweet smile, he said, "Come here, you!" and lunged toward Toothless in an attempted tackle hug. But though he aimed for the dragon's neck, a seemingly sure target, Toothless danced back with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He pulled up a paw to teasingly swipe at Hiccup, and next thing the both of them knew, they were half-sparring, half-chasing one another around the clearing.

"No fair, you have a longer arm reach than me!" Hiccup exclaimed with a short laugh as the dragon swept another foot toward the Viking. Hiccup dodged to the side, but not quite in time; for, while he thought he had ducked enough to the left, he felt a sudden pull on his vest. He stumbled backward, exclaiming, "Toothless, let go."

The dragon pulled up the plates on his head to suggest he _had._

Hiccup still stumbled as Toothless drew his paw back toward his body, and as Hiccup was pulled around, he realized at once that the dragon's claw had gotten snagged into the fabric. Twisting, being wheeled backward against his will as the dragon moved, Hiccup exclaimed, "Whoa whoa whoa, hold still! You're caught on me."

Toothless shook his foot to rid himself of the claw snag.

He only succeeded in rattling Hiccup about, the chief flopping about like a beached fish. His toe remained caught in Hiccup's clothes.

"Here, here, let me get out of this, just slip my sleeves out…"

But before Hiccup could get himself out of the mess by removing himself from the vest, Toothless shook his foot one last time.

_Hard._

Hiccup heard an enormous _r-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-p _and then he was suddenly flying backwards and everything was cold and then there was this equally loud SPLASH.

Hiccup was flung backward, suddenly shirtless, crashing into freezing cold early spring water. He plunged under for a moment, pushed himself up to the surface, and spluttered.

In the night, Hiccup could see Toothless staring at the ripped vest and shirt – still snagged on his toenail – with a rather curious expression.

Pulling himself of the water and shivering, clutching his hands around his wet and dripping chest, Hiccup grumbled, "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

Toothless puffed up his neck and chortled.

Hiccup reached into the cove water and splashed it at the dragon, hitting him right on the nose. The dragon widened his eyes as though offended.

"Oh come on. You got me wet. I have a right to get even." Hiccup laughed and drew the dragon's head in for a hug. "Thank you, Toothless," he said, the darkness of the night no more bearing upon him. He shivered in the chilly air nonetheless, and suggested, "Now let's go back before either of us catch a cold."

Dragon and rider rose into the sky. The cove had been the place Toothless' tail was mended by Hiccup's hand. And that same cove was a place of healing for Hiccup's heart.


	3. Family Portrait

**Family Portrait [Rating: K]**

**Also posted separately on this website.**

He could see her wandering through the Great Hall – a nervous, hunkering shadow prowling behind tables of laughing, drinking Vikings; a wraith-like, cringing nonparticipant staring wide-eyed at the bearded faces and freckled cheeks of old, old, near-forgotten acquaintances; a timid unseen presence ghosting the late-night Hooligan festivities simply because she received the invitation. Familiarities and unfamiliarities greeted her with an equally jarring visage. Passing an old friend brought a baffled frown as readily as foreign aspects within the Great Hall. And so she watched it all, passive in a realm of hectic activity. Drinks and belches and boisterous voices and raucous laughter and food and intermingling and gossip and crude humor and heated discussions passed her all by untouched. In the rare circumstance some human soul did notice her attendance, she shrunk back, spoke minimally, and retreated to the safety of distant shadowed corners. Even standing at the far end of the Hall, he could clearly read the discomfort in her body language.

It was not as though she _hated_ attending the late-night celebration. He knew she returned to Berk readily on her own volition. He also knew she just as easily could have spent her time amongst the dragons outside, where she would have felt far more comfortable. No, she wanted to be here. Wanted to mingle. She merely needed time to readjust to human civilization.

And, admittedly, discomfort emanated from far more locations than proximal to her. For while a number of Hairy Hooligans entered the evening feast with true, unmistakable vigor, many more pockets of Vikings hosted forced laughter, cringed smiles. Some fed and drank listlessly, not even bothering to hide their grief. Others glanced awkwardly in his direction. More than a few parted way for him without speaking, or only with minimal, respectful congratulations or condolences.

The feast to herald a new chief should never have arisen from such tragic circumstances.

As far as his own countenance was concerned, he struggled to maintain a calm outer disposition, at the very least something solemn moreso than melancholy. Oftentimes he wondered how his father would have treated circumstances, stood as a proper chieftain, spoken and interacted with the other Berk residents. Stoick had always entered situations so _naturally_ as a leader. And while Hiccup had observed all that growing up, now that he found _himself_ in the position of chief, he hardly understood how his father had managed to seem so comfortable in any scenario.

So he drifted through the crowds, just as listless as the wide-eyed shadow haunting the far corner of the Great Hall. Sometimes he paused at small Viking clusters before continuing onward. Yet through all this floating, floating through the assembly, he maintained his eyes on the woman at the far end of the room, and thus noticed immediately when she stopped before a painted shield which hung on one of the walls. Hurriedly, Hiccup excused himself from the two thick-bearded Vikings who had just started conversation with him, and hastened up toward his mother and the mounted shield.

She stood there, unmoving, unblinking.

As he approached, he began to distinguish the details painted on the wood. Far more an ornate shield decorated other houses in Berk, yet this one still maintained a wonderful magnificence, boasting high craftsmanship, sturdy lines, and an accurate portrayal of a boy and a hulking man. It was one amongst seven such shields lined along that wall, a piece of art continued in the tradition of past generations. Here, every single chief and his first-born teenaged son stood proudly on the circular boards. Hiccup could name all of them – Hamish the First, Hamish the Second, Squidface the Terrible, Chucklehead, and fabled Grimbeard the Ghastly. All were part of a proud Viking tradition.

Yet Hiccup's mute mother did not stand before the shields of past generations. Those shields were no novelty to her; they all had been displayed within the Great Hall far before she disappeared from Berk. As a young woman she gazed upon the portrait of Hamish the Second. As a child she stared wondrously at Grimbeard the Ghastly's face. Yet never before had she seen the portrait before her face.

A red-bearded, muscular man and his one-legged son.

Hiccup suddenly hesitated, uncertain if he should approach.

She stared for an uncomfortably long time. Then his mother Valka threw her eyes downward. He could read the pain on her face – at least until the world blurred, and he squeezed his eyes briefly shut to let loose a tear.

And when Hiccup opened his eyes once more, the walls of the room brightened, and the multi-colored columns glowed more brightly, and a big beefy hand rested on his shoulder, and a resonant voice from behind him commanded, "Shoulders back, chin up, son."

He tightened his shoulders and tried to puff up his chest as his father continued, "This portrait is going to take its place alongside all the other chiefs and their sons."

For instant – just an instant – he could feel the weight of a furry cloak hanging from his shoulders – could see the Great Hall filled with Hooligan Vikings taking drink after the day's earlier coronation ceremony for the son and successor of Stoick the Vast.

And then Stoick gestured again, pointing to a painting, proudly declaring, "That is the only picture of my father and me."

A wide, brawny boy standing confidently beside a strong Viking man.

A short, scrawny boy holding a scroll beside his father.

_That is the only picture of my father and me._

Hiccup again closed his eyes, averted himself from the present.

"It was a great day," Stoick declared.

The pride of a father with his son.

"And so is this."

The portrait of his family, incomplete there on the wall. A life growing up without Valka, only his father to keep him safe. And an incomplete family now, no father to celebrate his son's coming of age.

Hiccup took a step forward, and Valka noticed the footfall. She turned around. Met Hiccup's eyes. Stated, "It's a good picture of you and Stoick."

"It is," he said.

_It was a great day._

"He looks so proud of you."

Hiccup found himself fiddling with one of his sleeves, felt his shoulder shrugging in a non-committal response. He had not the heart to tell her about the dysfunctional relationship between Stoick and himself – of years and years of disappointments, awkward and stinted conversations, disobedience, admonishments, misunderstandings. The inability to relate. The rescues during dragon raids. Insults – "every time you step outside, disaster falls" – "all those years of the worst Viking Berk has ever seen" – "you're not a Viking" – and the worst – "you're not my son."

And now Stoick was gone.

A proud painter revealed the portrait, displaying the image of sixteen-year-old Hiccup and his father. In the painting, Stoick lightly rested a hand on Hiccup's shoulder. At his side, Stoick also placed his fingers above his son's arm and stared down fondly at the boy.

Maybe his relationship with Stoick often smarted, often stung, often strained. Yet an abundance of love nevertheless had flowed through the bond.

_It was a great day._

"He _was_ proud of me," Hiccup agreed.

Valka answered, directing her full attention to her son, away from the portrait, "And he would be proud of you now." She pulled her own hand forward, rested it on Hiccup's shoulder. Her delicate fingers did not carry the same heavy weight of his father's hand – the hand he never would feel on his shoulder again – yet the delicate pressure of Valka's fingers nevertheless provided a comfort. "Just as I am proud."

_It was a great day. _

"Mom, I'm glad you're here."

"You'll do well, son. Stand tall, stand proud."

_Shoulders back, chin up, son._

"You'll be a worthy chief of Berk."

_It was a great day. _

Hiccup pulled his cheeks up into the semblance of a smile.

_It was a great day._

_And so is this._

Is _it?_

His eyes rested on a cluster of children smuggling in an equally young Gronckle to the Great Hall. Listened to the whoop of Vikings as Snotlout bested Fishlegs in a cod eating contest. Watched young and old men, old and young women, stout and wiry Vikings, squat and towering Hooligans all mingle together in the Great Hall, drinks in hand. Spotted Ruffnut and Mulch and Ack and Tuffnut and Magnus and Gustav and Bucket and Astrid. Smelled the rich aroma of lingering dinners, listened to the rise and fall of many voices. Watched his village _live_.

Slowly Hiccup returned his eyes to his mother, reached up his hand to place it on top of Valka's, and asked her, "The night's getting late. Want to come home with me? I don't think I can enter an empty house alone."

The two of them left the portrait of a family behind them, but a sense of family remained as mother and son stepped out into chilly late autumn air.

_I do not know if today is a good day,_ Hiccup thought to himself, watching his mother's braids sway as she walked forward through the village. _But I certainly hope that tomorrow will be._


	4. Reunion

**Reunion [Rating: T for gore]**

**Also posted separately on this website.**

Over the island Hiccup and Toothless flew, eyes panning the ground beneath them for signs of life. Hiccup felt his heart thudding heavily, heavily, heavily from inside his chest, and it pounded all the harder when he caught sight of some black shape shifting amongst the trees below.

_Night Fury._

They had found it. Found the island where Night Furies still lived.

So long had Hiccup anticipated this moment. Hoped for it. Dreamed beyond all hope, for certainly it had appeared the species died off.

"Toothless, did you see that?" the chief asked in wonder. The Night Fury under him burbled an optimistic - if still notably nervous - affirmative. Hiccup could feel the dragon's muscles taught beneath him as they flew downward, spiraling to the island surface; surely his best friend was just as nervous to meet another Night Fury as Hiccup was.

_Toothless hasn't seen a Night Fury in at least half a dozen years._

"This is it, bud. Other Night Furies. You finally get to meet your family!"

First Hiccup had met his mother, whom he had expected dead, and now Toothless, whose species had vanished many years ago, would be reunited with his own kind.

They reached treeline. Coniferous branches stretched out to welcome them as they descended into a small clearing scattered with rock, an area close to where Hiccup had spotted movement. As soon as they landed, Hiccup adjusted his peg leg, hopped out of the saddle, and with a smile urged his dragon to meet another.

A small rumble in Toothless' throat accompanied the dragon as he immediately sniffed the air and wandered in the direction of the other Night Fury.

And then a screech.

Sonic blast. Visual. Everything erupted into violet light.

Dive down.

Tree branches rained to the earth.

Hiccup, shocked, pulled himself up from the ground, kneeling on four limbs and staring wide-eyed in the direction of the attack. Toothless himself appeared terrified, backing up slowly toward Hiccup, wings beginning to unfurl as though suggesting the two take off and flee while they still lived.

_That other Night Fury is hostile!_

"Okay, bud," Hiccup whispered, reaching a hand toward his dragon's flank. They were still a bit of a distance away from one another, but Hiccup's hand sought to close the gap. "Very quiet… very slowly…"

Another sudden screech.

Hurling black.

"TOOTHLESS, NO-!"

The roar of a Night Fury burst into a sudden _scream._It was like nothing Hiccup had before ever heard. The cry of a banshee… the screech of sudden pain…

…and it rang

rang

rang

in his ears.

But all he could see were afterimages of light flashing before him. Could not see, could not hear…

_Please, tell me it wasn't Toothless who jumped in front of me and got hit…_

Hiccup blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to adjust, trying to revert his eyes to their normal vision. Slowly, they acceded.

Before him lay a bloodied dragon. His best friend, the lights of his eyes fading, staring out toward him.

"Toothless… no…"

He had seen Toothless once lying on the ground before him, back when they first met. Hiccup had caught the dragon in his own bolas back then with the intent to cut out the creature's heart. That was how he had first expected to see this Night Fury's end. But Hiccup had changed his heart, cut Toothless free instead, and formed an inseparable bond.

What a horrid, horrid irony their friendship would end in the same way it had begun.

"Come on, buddy. You can't… no…" But Hiccup could see the wounds in the side, the amount of blood and torn muscle spilling out the dragon. There could be no way Toothless would live.

Not even caring if the other dragon returned, Hiccup fell heavily to his knees right there before Toothless' face so that he could stare the dragon eye-to-eye one last time. He placed his hand gently on Toothless' cheek.

In response, Toothless moaned an apology. But with it… a bit of a thanks…

A thanks for everything.

For that friendship they shared. From the first fish he regurgitated on Hiccup's lap… to the art he drew in the dirt… to their flights in the skies, soaring in the clouds… to every moment where they had saved the other's life… for the play wrestling and teasing and adventuring and every little moment, down to a smile.

Toothless tried to open his mouth into that gummy smile now, lips straining with effort.

They dripped blood.

Hiccup could not smile in return. He tried. He did. But instead his eyes shed tears which dripped onto the Night Fury's snout.

"You… you've changed my life, Toothless. I… I…" his voice choked up. He could hear in the distance the sound of footsteps approaching… the other hostile Night Fury… but he had to say this… _had_ to say this before he turned around and confronted the other dragon. "…I could not have done any of this without you."

Toothless moaned an affirmative, but the spark of his eyes - it flickered.

His head began to drop.

"I will carry you with me, every step I take, every decision I make. You are part of my blood, and I would never have gotten this far without you."

Toothless rested his head on the dirt. It was red.

"We shall meet again in a better world than this one."

But then Hiccup heard the screech of a Night Fury sudden rise up behind him. Hiccup did not even have time to raise his hands before he and Toothless were blasted - together- to Valhalla.


	5. Plasma Blast

**Plasma Blast [Rating: T for gore]**

He lay crumpled on the ground, unseeing. No sense of color. Light. Anything.

A throbbing world of pulsing hearts and the rumble of explosions shaking along the ground and his body trembling, trembling, trembling from the adrenaline…

From… from…

He raised his head.

Opened his eyes.

Before the world flashed into bloody red he knew exactly what he would see.

His father, dead, lying right in front of him, smoke rising up from the center of his chest.

How could it hurt his heart to see his father dead again? See him dead_again_…

He could see his father rise, jump up, screaming "SON!" before the dragon's blast hit.

Toothless' blast.

He could see his father fly away even as he himself tumbled over backwards.

The death, again and again, his own perspective, or outside his body, watching it over and over.

But he was running toward his father now. Running toward the body. Yanking off ice blocks covering his father's girth. Struggling to turn his father's torso and pull the man to his back.

As Hiccup tugged, the body moved. It moved all on its own. With horror Hiccup jerked away, staring shocked as a pale-faced body opened its eyes straight at him. "You failed me," the voice intoned gravely. "My death is on your hands. You're not my son."

"No. No. No no no no no no…" Hiccup tried to run away.

But there was Toothless advancing on him. _Not again!_ Hiccup's mind desperately screamed. _He cannot die again!_ Hiccup screamed out for Toothless to stop, backing away. He could do nothing. He knew Toothless would fire the blast.

He knew Stoick would throw himself in front of him.

And he did.

Another blast.

The same death on repeat.

This time Stoick shouted out a different phrase when he threw himself in front of Toothless. "You're not my son!"

"No no no, I'm sorry! I didn't mean this!"

Plasma blast. Stoick's shout. "Not my son."

"I didn't mean it like this at all! I was trying to bring peace! I am so sorry this happened! I can't - I can't -"

_Not_

_my_

_son._

"I swear I can be the chief you want me to be! Just give me a chance!"

Hiccup backed up away from Toothless again. The narrowed dragon's eyes fixated on him. He opened his jaw. Gas rose up.

Out of the corner of his eye Hiccup could see his father standing, judging, off to the side.

The cycle of repeated deaths had broken.

"You're not my son," he growled, and turned away. "You will never be the chief Berk wants."

_Plasma blast._

* * *

Hiccup jerked awake.


	6. Stubble

**Stubble [Rating: K]**

"Woooooow, I think you actually need to shave."

Hiccup paused and stared at his girlfriend, who had reached up to teasingly scrub right beneath his chin. She rubbed against something short and distinctly scratchy, smirking at him the entire time.

"Wait - wait a minute, why are you making fun of me about this?" He tried to pull himself away from her fingers. At the same time he glanced over puzzled at Toothless, as though his best friend could decipher the semantics behind Astrid's lighthearted but mocking comments. The dragon simply burbled before he abruptly buried his head in the nearest pond, dunking in to catch some fish.

It left Hiccup alone with his grinning girlfriend. Astrid, with far too much a playful intonation, responded, "Oh… I don't know. I just think it's funny that it's taken you so long to even reach _this_ point."

Hiccup rubbed under his own chin now, uncomfortably, as Astrid continued.

"I mean your father is practically a fountain of hair. Who knew you'd be such a baby face and not get your first shave until you were almost twenty?"

"Well, you're twenty, too, and I don't see _you_ growing a mustache," he retorted in a defense of sarcasm.

"The last thing I want to do is look like Snotlout."

"Point taken." Hiccup laughed despite himself. But when the young Hofferson continued tittering even after his own chuckles had died down, Hiccup could not help but protest. "Okay, okay, Astrid, stop it. Do you or do you not want me to shave? Not like I'm going to listen to you necessarily - but - I'm getting some confusing contradictions here and…"

"Whatever you want." She rubbed under his chin again and he knew she didn't mean it. He sighed.

* * *

As if on cue, the family dinner that evening with Stoick and Gobber commenced with a hearty facial hair comment, too. Even after his son's exasperated moan, Stoick still proceeded to exuberantly declare that his son was becoming a MAN indeed, and that Hiccup would have much to look forward to once the beard came in thicker, and that father and son could have a BEARD BRAIDING BONDING TIME. It was at the point Stoick and Gobber started arguing about what sort of beard style precisely Hiccup should sport that the young Viking, _completely and utterly done with this conversation,_ grabbed his half-eaten plate of food and marched up the stairs to finish his dinner alone.

_How many people even braid only the left side of their beard?_ he thought, irritated, shaking his head and trying to clear that thought from mind.

* * *

He could hear Stoick rising from his bed on the first floor.

Completely still but eyes wide open, Hiccup lay there beneath his own blankets, waiting, waiting, ears straining, for his father to leave the house. A creak in the floorboards here. The clunk of his father butting up against a chair a short while later. And at last, at long last, the squeak of the front door opening and clicking shut.

Hiccup promptly flew out of bed and raced downstairs, nearly tumbling on the steps in his haste to snatch a polished metal plate from the first floor and use it to study his reflection.

Toothless, who had been sleeping upstairs and startled completely by the young human's sudden burst of activity, suddenly peeped over Hiccup's shoulder and bumped the metal with his own nose. It nearly flew out of his hand. Hiccup hardly noticed.

Instead, he asked, "What do you think, bud? Time for a first shave?"

The dragon mumbled noncommittally, but once again tried to snatch the plate playfully from Hiccup's hand.

"Well a lot of help you are." Hiccup shoved his dragon's nose lightly aside. "I think… yeah… before Dad gets home. He has a razor somewhere in this house, doesn't he? It should be…" Hiccup began fishing around "…aha. Here!"

He then proceeded to stare at it critically. "It's like it's never been used," he remarked. He glanced over to the far corner of the house, where Stoick's pillow had been liberally shed upon by a pile of long red hairs. "Hmm… probably hasn't."

Hiccup turned to his reflection again, and said half to himself, half to Toothless, "Well, here goes, bud. Shouldn't be too hard, should it? I mean, if I can make your tail, surely I can do something as simple as -"

He yelped as the razor met his jawbone and chipped away at just as much skin as hair. Immediately he yanked the small blade away. Then, with a sigh, he more carefully brought the razor up a second time. Painful poke._Dropping_ the razor, this time. Holding a finger to his chin to staunch the bleeding as he leaned down to reacquire his shaving device.

Hiccup could hear a low draconic chuckle from behind him.

"Oh, you think this is funny, do you?"

He was beginning to regard this tiny little razor with a lot of apprehension.

_What did I get myself into?_

But Hiccup, tenacious as always, refused to back down from a project which he had begun. Trying not to cringe, he reached up to try to gently stroke his chin. He felt the edge of the razor slide gently over his jaw, removing hair and nothing else. "Ha! I got it!" he exclaimed, and then yelped again.

* * *

He was more than a little apprehensive to meet Astrid today at the Academy. His chin stung. Some areas were still itchy with small patches of hair, others nicely shaved, and others pricked with cuts. And indeed when he showed his face to her, she burst into shoulder-heaving laughter, exclaiming, "Did a Terrible Terror attack you?"

_Alright, that's it,_ Hiccup thought, changing his mind on facial hair. _I guess someday in the future I'll have to look forward to 'beard braiding bonding time.'_


	7. They Called Him Hiccup

**They Called Him Hiccup [Rating: T for gore]**

**This deserves a much longer story. Maybe someday I will get around to writing this to full justice. In the meantime, here is the drabble version I originally wrote for a tumblr prompt.**

They called him 'Hiccup' when he first woke up. That was about the extent of what he remembered. And for a while, after they said the name, he just sat there on the ground staring up at everyone's faces, completely baffled. _Hiccup? _How did a muscle spasm in the chest pertain to anything?

It took several repetitions of the word for him to comprehend they meant _him_.

But the repetitions of his name were no longer to address the young man on the ground. The people standing above him said the word in hushed murmurs, staring gravely at one another, some of them even inching away. Only one man stepped forward to lend a hand to… 'Hiccup'… telling him, "Don'tcha worry, laddie." That man might have been speaking more to himself than the man he helped to his feet.

"We'll just… take you back… home."

* * *

'Home' was a foreign location. The entire village was.

So were the people.

* * *

They called him 'Hiccup' when they introduced him to a dragon. An enormous monstrosity, something large enough to pounce and murder him in half a second. Indeed it charged at him, and he held his hands up to his face, flinching, preparing to be mauled.

"No, no! This is your best friend!" The concerned blonde who spoke was a young woman with concerned, near-teared blue eyes.

"Best… friend."

He still shrunk away. The neatly lined teeth in the dragon's mouth… each and every one of them appeared more than dangerously sharp.

The creature grumbled in its throat, then, seating itself, stared very, very intently at him with wide green eyes. Waiting for… for… something.

"Uh…"

He hardly wished to touch the thing. Did not want it near. He flinched when it inched forward. Withdrew his head when it threw an enormous pair of eyes and a blunt nose forward, bonking his entire arm.

"Hi?"

His entire body leaned away from the dragon.

Persistently, the dragon continued nudging his hand.

"What… what does he want? Uh… can he…

"…get

"…away…

"…from…

'…me?"

* * *

They called him 'Hiccup' in the village. No one called him 'Chief,' though that was his title, according to one dark-haired, scrubby man with a short cropped beard. No one wished him in charge, though. Not without his memories.

No one really allowed him to do anything. Sure, no one actively barred him. But no one really _invited_ him, either. They just sort of stared at him, shaking their heads as he idled in the village square, not addressing him, not including him in anything, not doing anything at all for him, really. He ghosted the village, attempting to learn the streets, staring curiously at the men and women and boys and girls as they went about their daily lives.

* * *

They called him 'Hiccup.'

So did the man with the false left arm.

Everyone called him 'Hiccup'… those still alive, anyway.

He could hardly tally the number dead, for he knelt on the ground, shaking, shaking, trembling, teary-eyed and near-unseeing, coughing through smoke and gagging at the stench of burning flesh, at the taste of blood and organs in his mouth… none of which belonged to him. Moaning, left hand still spasming from the shock of the recent blast, he reached up to wipe his eyes. It only burned his face more, and he had to snap his eyelids shut to prevent a worsened sting.

Only after a time could he open his eyes without them watering.

And when he finally could see, and looked up to the scene before him, he almost wished as though he had never opened them up in the first place.

An umoving arm and its metal counterpart were sprawled before him. So was a massive black form.

_No._

No no no no no no no no no.

He charged straight toward the heaped, black scaly mound, rushed to where a head lay, and stared the dragon straight into its fading green eyes.

_Still alive_.

"You… you saved my life…" The man with the bullhook and amputated limb lay lifeless beneath the dragon, smoking, charred, from beneath the black dragon.

The dying dragon.

He stared at his own hand, bleeding, calloused and clotted with dirt, running in mud. But… in his short existing memory, he knew that the dragon had wanted touch from that very hand. Perhaps, as a gift to the fading animal, he could provide it that one simple gift.

He knelt down. Wide-eyed, met the dragon's gaze again. Turned his attention back to his hand.

And…

…reached…

…..out.

Blood met blood. Open wound met open wound. Green eye met green eye.

Something surged through Hiccup, and he gasped, pulling his hand back, tears welling in his eye even moreso than before.

This was not the first time he and the dragon had touched one another nose to hand.

This was not the first time the dragon had saved his life.

This was not the first time he had watched a loved one die before him.

Yet what had he done in his final days but shun that dragon, all because he could not remember their prior bond?

Hiccup collapsed onto the dragon, sobbing. "No," he whispered, ear hearing the dragon's heart slow. "No." Its chest heaved with labored effort. "Don't leave me, bud. Don't leave me, Toothless." He could barely swallow, dry-throated while tear drowned his eyes. "Come on, come on… _you're my best friend!_"

The dragon never heard him nor even knew Hiccup's memories had returned. Breaths stilled, heart stopped, and the dragon died for a stranger.


	8. Buffcup the Brawny

**Buffcup the Brawny [Rating: K]**

**This may turn into a longer, several-chapter-long fic.**

Snotlout _launched_ into the Great Hall, throwing back fifty-foot high doors with a resounding CRASH, and nearly stumbled in his maddened rush to run indoors. He did not slow down upon entering the building; if anything, he picked up speed, fleeing as though the very gods were chasing him. He plowed over children and hurled himself over tables, stomping on food, kept running. At the top of his lungs he was screaming, "CHIEF! CHIEF! CHIEF! CHIEF!"

Stoick turned just as Snotlout slid on his stomach to the chief's feet. He grabbed a hold of one of the Stoick's boots, and with reddened tears staining his otherwise deathly pale face, he screamed, "Stoick! You've got to do something!"

Berk's leader managed a solid, "Uhhhh," before four more frantic youths hurled into the hall. Astrid, Ruffnut, and Fishlegs all sprinted directly to Stoick, but at least they did not put on so histrionic a display as Snotlout's. They remained upright and did not cling onto his boots, at least. While Fishlegs took a knee and the twins crouched over to gasp for breath, Astrid between pants hurriedly informed Stoick, "Sir, it's Hiccup!"

_That_ caught Stoick's attention. Not like Snotlout sliding to his boots was easy to ignore. "What happened?" he demanded while he tried to shake Snotlout off from his ankle.

"Eeeeeee…" Fishlegs squealed, voice rising into nervous, high pitches.

"How to explain it, um… um… he…" Astrid began.

Stoick butted in immediately, placing both his hands firmly on Astrid's shoulders. He stared her intently in the eye and asked, "Is he alright?"

Ruffnut said "Yes" at the same time Fishlegs said "No" and Snotlout sobbed "Nowhere close."

Stoick waited for Astrid's more level response. She glanced down for a moment, letting her breathing slow slightly - just slightly - before beginning, "He's fine but it's still, it's still an emergency. Well, you see, we were out exploring, and a large rock fell on him and now he thinks he's –"

Before Astrid could finish, the doors crashed open a third time. This crash was _not_, however, followed by frantic running or screaming. Rather, the person who entered sauntered forward cockily, a rather self-important smugness ruining all his handsome features. His arrogance inundated the room. While Snotlout's entrance had been memorable and ridiculous, causing people to shout and to shake their fists angrily, this young man's arrival created even more of a stir. Men dropped beer mugs at the sight of him, and women gasped when he gave them flirtatious grins.

"Is that…" Even Stoick was speechless at the sight of his own son.

For it _was_ his own son. Somehow. This was _Hiccup_. This crazy cocky flaunter was none other than _Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third_.

Someone who most _definitely_ did not act so brashly as to make Snotlout seem a selfless saint.

Until now.

Whatever was going on in Hiccup's head, he seemed to believe he was far bigger than he actually was. He held his arms out wide as though to prevent enormous biceps from rubbing up against his illusory bulging pecs. He stomped forward with the weight of three men, and when he looked at Stoick, he acted as though he were looking _down_ rather than up.

"Hiccup, what do you think you are doing?" the chief inquired.

Hiccup did not answer. He instead panned his gaze throughout the room, looking at each and every Viking with a distasteful twist to his jaw. He seemed disgusted by the women and men before him.

"Hiccup, what's going on?" Stoick tried again.

Nothing. The young man continued to vainly assess the room.

"Hiccup!"

This time Stoick grabbed Hiccup by the shoulders to shake him.

And with one fluid motion, Hiccup twisted Stoick's hand, pulled him over his head, and _slammed_ him to the floor.

"My name is not Hiccup!" he bellowed to the ceiling. His speech was different; he was attempting to speak in a much more resonant than nasally voice, and a full two octaves lower from where his vocal cords were comfortable. "I am no mistake. No _runt_. Nay! I am BUFFCUP the BRAWNY, and I am here to take these lands into my own jurisdiction."

Stoick only got to his feet because Hiccup dismissively let him.

Every single one of the youths stared straight at their chief to inform him _this_is what they meant by "emergency."


	9. Remember When

**Remember When… ****[Rating: K]**

He held her hand softly, one wrinkled hand laid gently on top of another. It was just her and him now in the house all alone – for their children had left on a voyage with the grandkids, and would not be back for a week yet, if even two. It evoked the quietness of the old days, back before they were old, back during the times when they were newlyweds and younger even than their grandchildren were today. Oh, but the smell of her hair was just as refreshing now as when it was blonde. She still wore it braided, too – a hair fashion which had never grown old for Astrid Haddock.

_Remember when our first grandkid got his little fat fingers twisted up in that braid?_ _Aksel was only about three months old. Maybe four. As soon as he got his finger caught he began bawling and howling up to his grandmother. She had simply smiled, wrinkles crinkling along her already-wrinkled cheeks, and delicately removed his fingers from her hair. Not like that stopped him from reaching up for the braid again a minute later._

Hiccup himself now reached out with his free hand to stroke Astrid's braid. His hand hovered for a moment by her ear, but then slowly moved down her braid. She turned her head slightly at his tender touch; Astrid was still sleeping, for all it was midmorning and she was usually up at this time for morning chores. But he let her rest; she needed it, deserved it.

Not like Astrid had ever been much of a chore person, anyway. She simply had tolerated it because he was chief and had other duties to attend to during the day. But far more often, she went away on quests with an axe gripped firmly in both hands. Or at least, she had. She was a bit too old for questing now.

A bit of poignancy hit Hiccup's mind. _Remember the day you came home from your last voyage? That time when you told me you were getting too old for this? Your bones were creaking; you could barely walk, let alone do those handsprings you did when you were young._

_But…_ His eyes stared down fondly at her lightly-closed lids _…that opened the way up for new things. More time for us to spend together with our kids, our grandkids, and each other. It hurt us both to see you give your war axe away to your eldest daughter. And it hurt her, too. Katja's blue-green eyes stared down at the axe, flashed up to her mother, and then shot down to the axe again. She couldn't believe that you would ever give it up._

_It's hard to believe that day came, for all we knew it would…_

It had not been bad in the end, though. Not all bad. Even though growing old brought with it many physical limitations and the end of old sports, at least it also meant they could share many fond memories together.

If only there were many more in store for them.

Yet time cannot tick backward. Hiccup and Astrid had far more memories behind them than before them.

Hiccup could smile anyway. So many of those old memories were good ones.

_Remember when we had the house to ourselves for the first time in two and a half decades? After our youngest daughter married that young man from the Svenson clan? Bard and Klara had been so happy that day, their eyes shining brightly. You and I had come home to an empty house, a house which had suffered through so much wear and tear of three children. Yet they had grown, and we were by ourselves._

_We almost didn't know what to do with ourselves at that point. You came up with the idea for us to go on picnics, go fishing, practice archery, do a lot of activities together now that the kids were out of the house. I know I felt a little hesitant about it at first. Did I have the room in my schedule? The chiefdom needed running. And I had never been fond of physical sports even in my twenties. But… every moment I spent with you was worth it. The slippery fish I caught but then accidentally dropped on your head. The way you shouted and punched me into the river for revenge. The infinite times you bested me in axe throwing contests. The one – _one_ – time I actually beat you._

Memories kept flooding.

_The days we went out on a hike and got dunked on in the rain. The voyages we went on to distant islands. The time we thought we caught a glimpse of a blue Deadly Nadder flying over the sea._

_You had screamed that day in excitement, and yanked me forward by my shirt with incredible vigor. You charged, half-dragging me, to the edge of a cliff where we could overlook the ocean. Pointed to a speck in the fading sun. That was not just any Nadder, you insisted. That was Stormfly._

"Stormfly?" Astrid murmured, puzzled. She had opened her eyes now, though she continued to rest on the pillow contently. The blueness in her eyes had paled over the years, and now the whites of her eyes were milky moreso than clear. Nothing had changed in the way she stared at Hiccup, though. Full of love.

"What?" Hiccup mumbled.

"I thought you said something," she said, and then started to drift back to sleep.

She was paling. Hiccup knew it, and his heart sank. He wished with all his will she would rise from this bed – if not this hour, maybe before the morning was done.

_Remember when, in this very bed, you birthed our first daughter? You told me I worried far too much for it. "I'm a warrior," you told me. "I've been through much worse. This is a good thing; I'll be fine." _

_And this birth was absolutely amazing. I remember us huddling together for the first time as a family of three. I kissed you on the cheek; you turned to give a bigger kiss on the lips. "What should we name her?" you asked._

From the bed, in a groggy voice, Astrid remarked, "You're definitely talking to yourself."

"Oh." Hiccup blinked, realizing he must have begun reminiscing aloud.

She reached up to punch him lightly, affectionately, on the shoulder. Her thin arm wobbled in the general trajectory towards Hiccup's side. But she missed him, and the action took up much of her strength. For a moment, she fell into a horrid fit of coughing that shook her entire brittle body, making her look almost as though she were breaking into a seizure.

"You should rest, milady," Hiccup urged her, wishing for an infinite time she had not fallen so ill. "Save your energy."

Yet Astrid ignored him. Instead of responding to his comment about her health, she followed up by saying, "Everything you suggested for her sounded like _dragon_ names more than Viking names."

"Well… I _did _get more experience naming dragons." he defended with a shrug. "Now please, won't you…"

Astrid cut him off gently with another sentence. This time, it was _she_ who began, "Remember when…"

"Remember when we got engaged?" she asked.

"How could I forget?"

_It had not gone as planned. In truth, it hadn't even been planned at all. Of all the places Hiccup had imagined he would propose to Astrid, he had never expected it would be the battlefield. They had taken a short respite to regroup and prepare for a rather bold rush toward the enemy; the offensive had a short likelihood of survival, yet it was the only way either of them believed they could potentially defeat their enemy. And the war had been going on long enough – more than long enough – and had turned their lives into two years of Helheim._

_At this time Astrid had noticed Hiccup staring off into the middle of nothing, eyes glazed with thought. She reached out to touch his shoulder, slowly rubbing her hand over him. And he had reached up to rest his own hand on her arm, feeling her right there beside him, there so close. Before he even knew what he was saying, he was burying his face in her hair and murmuring almost hoarsely, "I'll swim and sail on savage seas."_

_Astrid frowned, puzzled at the strange comment. "What?" she asked. "Is that poetry?"_

_Hiccup explained, "It's part of the lyrics to a song." He dropped his eyes downward. "Not one that I ever really knew, but it's one my father considered special. I only remember the first few lines. 'I'll swim and sail on savage seas… with ne'er a fear…' uh… 'for drowning'… and then something, ah, I don't remember… but following it… 'if you will marry me'."_

_Astrid shifted her weight and merely listened to Hiccup quietly narrate his thoughts. Her hand on his shoulder definitely held onto him more firmly, though._

"_My father used to tell me the story of the day he told my mother that he wanted to marry her. They both always enjoyed singing that song, but on that particular day, my dad got down on one knee after the line 'if you will marry me,' and told my mom that he really _did_ want to marry her. And she said she did, too. The following day, they began marriage arrangements with her family and… yeah. They got together. Married._

"_Dad told me it was a very happy day for him. Both of them. But the thing is, they made it happy themselves. It was during the days where the dragon attacks were especially severe and none of the Berk fishermen could even leave the harbor. Winters were harsh. People almost starved. It wasn't a time that people were supposed to be happy._

"_But my parents were. They found a reason to be happy in the face of all misery."_

"_Oh Hiccup," Astrid murmured._

"_And I was thinking… maybe we could do the same thing." Hiccup dropped his hands and pulled his neck up to stare her straight, intently in the eye, giving her full view of his fears and hurts. Something else in his eyes, too. A straightforward sincerity. "If we somehow get through this, Astrid, will you… will you marry me?"_

Hiccup and Astrid told each other the story every few years on their anniversary. They always saved it for their anniversary… at least until this day.

Astrid looked up at him, having finished her narration, and he answered, "I'll never be able to forget that. Remember when we told Mother?"

Valka had been ecstatic, crowing loudly, grabbing each of their shoulders, and nearly crashing their skulls together in a three-way hug.

"Remember when Dad first started predicting we'd marry?" Hiccup said with a nostalgic sight.

In a croaky whisper, between coughs, Astrid said, "Remember that wedding ceremony?"

"Remember the night that came after?"

"Remember when you threw a sheep in my face that one game of Dragon Racing and nearly knocked me off Stormfly?"

"Remember that one time you _did_ knock me off Toothless?"

"Remember when it was just the two of us at Dragon's Edge?"

"Remember the month I tried to teach you how to cook?"

"Remember when we had our first kiss? Our first real, deepkiss?"

"Remember when we first told everyone we were together and Snotlout kept trying to convince us we weren't?"

"Remember when we went sledding down the mountain with our dragons?"

"Remember the first time I took you up on Toothless? That one sunset?"

Hiccup waited for Astrid to follow up with another, "Remember when," but instead of her voicing a memory, there was… silence.

Her arm was draped, limp, across an even stiller chest.

_I remember when we were teenagers and barely knew one another. You caught my eye even then, for being such a beautiful and a powerful warrior. I wished I could be even a fraction as incredible as you. In my mind I always dreamed we would be able to talk, maybe even share a kiss, but I never even began to fathom that I'd be able to spend my entire life with you. I never thought that we would fall in love, that we would have three children, that there would be eight grandchildren, that we would spend sixty years together in the same household._

_Yet when I was a boy, all I knew was that you were beautiful and strong. I knew that I was in love with you. And so I watched you from a distance. As you ran around, dousing fires from the dragon attacks, I watched you from the window of Gobber's forge._

_I never knew, never knew, that the gods would bless us so._

And with that final memory, Hiccup reached his hands forward to touch his wife one last time. His late wife. He closed her eyes, and then he closed his, too, to let a single tear fall from his eye.

There would be no more new days with Astrid, now.

Only memories.


	10. Father's Dragons

**Father's Dragons [Rating: K]**

**This general idea will probably be turned into a longer fanfiction called "Great-Grandfather's Dragons."**

They never knew to whence the dragons had gone. Never had any idea to where they disappeared. Not even a direction. Not north. South. East. West. Near or far, off the edge of the map, close to the Barbaric Archipelago… they never knew. Not even the Great Chief Hiccup Haddock the Third knew. Or so legend said. When the dragons vanished, they vanished… entirely.

Of course. That was the entire intention: to vanish. In order to protect the dragons, every single human being had had to let the creatures go to resettle in the wild, leaving Viking civilization behind completely.

Yet while the dragons physically departed Berk, they never departed the Hooligan's minds. The Vikings of Berk continued to commemorate the species. Wood-carved dragon heads guarded doorways; banners of Scauldrons and Thunderdrums lined the Great Hall; and stories were told.

Oh yes, yes. Stories were always told.

Everyone who lived during the times of dragons would recount tales of old. Children eagerly climbed onto parents' and grandparents' laps to hear first of the wars with dragons, then the subsequent peace. Very frequently little squeaky voices would inquire, "So when am I gonna see a dragon? They're comin' back, right?"

Katja herself remembered asking those questions. It did not feel so long ago. At the same time, though, she remembered outgrowing that blissful naïveté and accepting the reality the dragons were never returning home. The only dragons she ever would see were the ones her father drew in the Book of Dragons. The only ones she would ever ride were the vague, cloudy shapes entering her dreams.

She still continued listening to the stories, though. Began telling them herself. Her younger sisters of course wanted to hear _all_ the stories of dragons growing up. And because their father was busy building alliances and running the tribe, and because their mother had her own duties to attend to as one of Berk's greatest warriors, storytime fell upon Katja. She recounted tales of times she never saw to Bridgette and Klara… told them so often she almost believed she had been there alongside their father, back when he was a boy.

It didn't help people said she looked like him. That she had the same narrow shoulders, ruffled brown hair, and inquisitive eyes. That she had the same spirit, too. Peaceful but full of resolve. Would have made a great dragon trainer. Marvelous one.

But there were no dragons, would be no dragons… so she traveled the world by ships. Only on the ocean sea could she solve some of her restlessness.

Her friends didn't always appreciate the adventures she dragged them into, though.

"KATJA KARI HADDOCK, THIS IS THE LAST - AND I MEAN THE _LAST_ \- TIME I SET FOOT ON A SHIP WITH YOU! THE LAST!" Inge Eretson threw his hands up in the air, gesticulating wildly to enunciate his resolve.

But Katja and her two younger sisters knew better. Bridgette and Klara Haddock stood side-by-side, standing, crossing their arms, and smirking near the left side of the ship. From her position near the ship's bow, she could overhear them taking bets.

"So, how much you want to bet he says that on the next trip in… say… a week?" Klara asked.

"You bet a week, I'll bet three days," Bridgette returned, then held her hand out for a handshake.

"What are the stakes?"

"Clean the other's room for a month."

"Deal."

Inge, standing right next to them, positively fumed. His younger brother Kai, who had their mother's long, blonde hair and skinny frame, sniggered beside him, and even the ever-serious Algarick Jorgenson broke into a smile. Iris Ingerman showed no reservations, shrieking out into a high-pitched, screaming laugh that made everyone cringe and cover their ears. This continued for a good solid five minutes as she continued shrieking, snorting, and in general laughing far too hard for the occasion.

"You know you're going to do it," Addie Larson remarked bluntly as soon as Iris quieted. Her know-it-all, preteen tone made everyone grimace. If only they had left her back on Berk. "Even when the two of you stupid lovebirds_ finally_ start going on dates, she's going to keep dragging you into these things."

Inge threw his hands up in the air one final time and then stormed to the opposite end of the ship. The entire time he muttered to himself, "Bloody wool-headed, sheep-brained idiot… never any rest… what I get for… the chief's daughter… going to crash into those rocks… _then_ we'll see who's right… I'm always right…"

And he stubbornly sat himself cross-legged right there on the floor of the ship, still muttering, still glowering, still insisting he was right. They never should have left Berk so far behind and wandered through _these_ uncharted islands. True, nothing had attacked them yet, not even giant screaming eels… yet it was only a matter of time before they holed the ship from one of the many rocks in this shole.

Typically at this time some of the youths - especially Kai - would come up and badger Inge about his crush on Katja. But no one did. Instead everyone's eyes swiveled out to the rapidly approaching coastline as Katja called out, "Thor! Thor! Did you _see_ that?!"

Everyone rushed to starboard. Even Inge. Gazed up at the shore and its high-reaching, menacing, foggy cliffs. Nothing.

"What… are you talking about?" Algarick asked uncertainly, keeping his voice low as he peered toward the steep rock faces.

"How much you want to bet she mistook a bird for a dragon?" Bridgette whispered, punching her younger sister on the shoulder. The two began to haggle again.

"Shh, no no no, quiet quiet!" Katja insisted. She nearly leaned out of the ship, staring at the cliffs. "I swear I saw… saw something… not a bird… not this time…"

"Hostile tribes?"

"No! And even if they were, we're not going to get captured this time. Not going to let dartguns catch us by surprise again."

"Uh-huh," said Inge, entirely unconvinced. "Okay then, what was it?"

"It's a… it's a…" Katja squinted, blue-green eyes staring intently near the top of the cliffs. And then she shrieked, nearly off-balancing the Eretson brothers as she threw her hand triumphantly toward the skies. She pointed upward, shrieking, "Cave! Cave! Time to go spelunking, let's go!"

And she threw herself out of the ship and into the tides before they could even anchor near shore.

* * *

Everyone peered into the cave. Katja, Bridgette, and Klara Haddock. Inge and Kai Eretson. Algarick Jorgenson. Iris Ingerman. Addie Larson.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Inge asked queasily.

"You got none of your mother's daredevil personality, did you?" Katja snorted derisively. Ruffnut wife of Eret son of Eret was still well-known for her ridiculous stunts; she tended to set fire to one major building semi-annually… so frequently it was suspiciously starting to look like a routine.

"You've got none of your father's _sense_."

"Come on, we've done dumber things than this."

"Just because we've done dumber things doesn't mean that this is a good idea."

And then they saw it.

Little bigger than their hand.

Something… glowing.

Eight or ten legs - hard to say - long tail - and wings. Reptile. Burning like the sun just standing there on the floor of the cave.

"Is that a…"

"Dragon," Katja whispered in awe.

Everyone stared, bug-eyed, at the tiny creature. Whispers rose up. "I don't believe it." "She's actually done it." "We found them? Did we actually find them?" "Oh my _gods_." "Just wait 'til we tell our parents. Wait 'til we tell our tribe!"

And then Addie Larson, right in the middle of it, snuffed irreverently, "I thought they'd be bigger."

Whispered admirations immediately silenced.

"Now that you mention it… yeah…" Kai said slowly.

"Did they really exaggerate the stories _this_ much? Was Toothless just supposed to be some tiny black lizard the size of my shoe?"

But Katja was far from dismayed. Beneath tangled brown bangs, her eyes shone brightly. They shone, for all she was standing in a shadowed cave. "But guys! Don't you get it! It's a _dragon_! And where there's one, there could be…"

"More!" everyone shouted. And suddenly caution was forgotten. They all rushed forward deeper into the dark.

Cheeks puffed out air excitedly. Heart pounded heavily. Palms sweat. Feet rushed forward, forward, forward, down the tunnel. No one noticed the chambers becoming warmer, nor lighter… at least not until they all burst out into a shockingly enormous expanse. Ice rose up in columns to a shining peak. Ferns and green plants grew on misty cliffsides. And all about them were…

_Dragons._

So many times Katja had heard Hiccup murmur, "There were dragons when I was a boy."

There were dragons _now_, too.

Small ones, many like the fiery one they first found. Larger ones, about the size of dogs, frolicking in a river. Enormous lumpy beasts and bird-like spiny reptiles and gorgeous, majestic, long-necked beasts. Dragons flying in swarms like geese. Dragons swimming in rivers like fish. Dragons charging across the clearing like herds of deer.

Katja could barely breathe. _This_ was it. _These_ were dragons!

It took her a long time to realize the dragons were staring at her, warily. Many had fled, flying to higher ledges as soon as the humans entered. Others crouched down and growled. Others hid in rocks or beneath the waters. All of them looked nervous and displeased at their new company.

"Weren't dragons supposed to be… nice?" Iris asked. "Dad told me…" She stepped slowly, slowly forward to one of the few dragons which had not fled from them yet. It arched its back, growling. Even though it was one of the smaller ones - maybe seven feet tall - it still appeared frightened, and raised a pointed tail toward Iris as though to sting her. Iris reached out her hand, attempting to touch it on the snout… and the dragon darted away.

She and Katja stared after it with visible disappointment.

"Well, how many of them have seen humans? They're all feral," Algarick pointed out.

"I guess." Katja frowned. _If Dad could train a dragon, then maybe I…_ and then she paused.

"What's that one black one doing?"

None of them knew how to tell an older dragon from a younger dragon, yet this one sported enough signs for wear he had to be one of their elders. He bore many scars upon his body, and his scales, though black, seemed to have little more than a dull sheen on them. Perhaps when he was younger, the black had been deeper and richer. Yet a magnificence nonetheless stuck to this beast. He stepped toward them like a panther, though with almost innocent curiosity, maybe even… enthusiasm.

The dragon picked up speed, jogging, galloping, running. And then it _leaped _toward them.

"Duck!" screamed Kai and Inge at once, throwing themselves to the ground.

Katja stood still.

Her vision exploded into black. She felt an enormous body _crash_ into her. Fell. Smashed onto her back. And then suddenly her face was covered in something enormous, pinky, slimy…

_The dragon was licking her._

She began to laugh. "It's fine, it's fine!" she screamed, trying to squirm away from the goopy tongue. "It's…" and the old stories came back to her "…TOOTHLESS!"

She chortled, trying to push herself back onto her feet. The dragon's enthusiasm was only increasing, though, and he continued to paw at her, burbling, as though wanting to play. But at last he backed up and sat on his haunches, staring at her with enormous, wide, circular green eyes.

"Toothless," Katja murmured again in awe.

Of all the legends the Hooligans had told, Toothless was perhaps the greatest legend of all.

"How do you - how do you know?" She began playing with her hair, trying to puzzle it out. Began pacing. Totally forgot her friends were around her. "It's like you recognize me. But - but that's - how -?"

She paused, then glance down at her bag. Katja had borrowed one from her father this morning because she could not find her own satchel.

"You… smell him. Dad? Your old rider?"

She began to cry, reaching up to touch the dragon. Toothless leaned in, closing his eyes, and bumped her palm gently with his snout. Her mind whirled, thinking of ways she could drag her father here. "Oh Toothless," she murmured, feeling kinship already. _It's like I've known him my whole life. _"I can't believe it. Dad always said you two were the best of friends. He did, didn't he? Best friends forever…"

Toothless grunted in agreement, pulling his teeth into his gums and then pulling them up into a shaky smile.

"Best friends… forever."


	11. Possession

**Possession [Rating: K+]**

Out from the screams of the battlefield rose a cry - a long drawn-out, indignant, "STO-O-O-O-OP!" Hiccup swept down on his Night Fury, landing Toothless before the man who had initiated this attack.

This man's broad, scar-torn face wrinkled in disgust, old war wounds crumpling unevenly over his sneering expression. Hiccup could feel the man's judgment upon him - those brown eyes quickly took in every imperfection, from Hiccup's skinny body frame to the peg leg. And he found Hiccup wanting - laughable, even.

Hiccup could ignore that. What he couldn't ignore was the combination of frustration and fear boiling inside his chest beneath his breastplate.

He had to act. He had to stop this battle.

So again he demanded, "Stop," and stared his enemy face-to-face. He continued stepping forward to approach the warlord.

That man simply snorted. He stepped forward casually, gripping a bullhook in his right hand, and gestured to the boy with the end of his weapon. "This is the great Dragon Master?" he derided. "The son of Stoick the Vast? What shame he must feel."

Hiccup would not be so easily turned aside. He had heard so much about this man - Drago Bludvist - and had been seeking to speak to him for a lengthy time. And the carnage of battle fueled him even moreso to speak. Hiccup exclaimed, "All of this loss, and for what? To become unstoppable? To rule the world? Dragons... they are kind, amazing creatures that can bring people together."

Drago's face was grave. "Or tear them apart." He slowly reached up, pulled aside a cape he had draped across his shoulder, and revealed a prosthetic left arm. "You see," Drago continued, "I know what it is to live in fear, to see my village burnt, my family taken. But even as a boy, left with nothing, I vowed to rise above the fear of dragons and liberate the people of this world."

"Then why a dragon army?" Hiccup demanded.

"Well, you need dragons to conquer other dragons."

But Hiccup, catching onto the man's hypocrisy, returned, "Or maybe you need dragons to conquer people, to control those who follow you and to get rid of those who don't."

And then Drago's facial expression changed. His eyes narrowed slightly, and a dangerous smile curled on his lips. In a low, throaty, rather ominous voice, he murmured, "Clever boy."

Something like a warning flashed in Hiccup's mind, yet he continued ranting. "The world wants peace, and we have the answer back on Berk," he insisted. "Just let me show you..."

The warlord's voice erupted. He cut Hiccup off, threw his bullhook in the air, and shouted, "No! Let _me_ show _you_!"

His words turned to wordless shouts, a brutal, almost mindless hollering. He whirled his bullhook in the air; Hiccup stepped back to avoid being hit. A deep rumbling echoed Drago's roars. A mountain rose behind him - a living mountain - an impossibly huge dragon known as the Bewilderbeast. The dragon, summoned by Drago, now stared down at the man's bullhook, waiting instructions.

Drago pointed to the Bewilderbeast with his bullhook. "No man can resist the alpha's command," he intoned. He stared menacingly at Hiccup. "So, he who controls the alpha controls them all."

His bullhook rotated to point straight at Hiccup's chest. Hiccup continued backing up, uncertainly, but still slowly. His heart rattled against his breastplate now. It never occurred to him he could flee; rattled and uncertain, he could only back up slowly.

Drago continued. "Witness true strength: the strength of will over others. In the face of it, you are... _nothing._"

Hiccup looked up at the mighty Bewilderbeast, hundreds of times larger than he. But looking up at the Bewilderbeast was a mistake. The dragon was staring back at him with curiously slit eyes... eyes that were... entrancing... almost... hypnotic. Hiccup blinked, tried to turn away. He found he couldn't.

From behind him he could hear his dragon Toothless growling worriedly. That should have troubled Hiccup. For some reason, it didn't. The eyes... the eyes of that Bewilderbeast... they bore into him... _sucked_ at him... he was being sucked into those eyes... those eyes were all that existed... those eyes were existence... he couldn't hear anything, couldn't smell anything. Vision blurred. Could only see those eyes.

Mind... clouded... over.

Hiccup lost himself to the dragon. Drago's Bewilderbeast overtook the Viking's mind.

Hiccup had become a puppet to this beast. And though Hiccup didn't realize it, he had begun reaching down toward his boot, had grabbed the blade of his fire sword in one hand, had ignited the blade, and was even now staggering toward Toothless.

Toothless' eyes widened in alarm, and he began to croon urgently. It seemed as though the dragon did not wish to leave Hiccup and dart off, but rather attempt to reverse whatever it was the Bewilderbeast had done to him.

Yet Hiccup still advanced forward. In his eyes, all he could see was a blur. All he could think was a fog. He could think of nothing clearly... could think of little at all... though in his body he could feel an _urge_ to kill. It was what he _should_ do. Kill. He didn't know how, he didn't know why, he didn't question it. He just stepped toward that black blurry dragon-like thing, holding forward something hot and flaming in his left hand.

Kill.

Was he hearing something? Was it the dragon barking at him?

Kill.

Sword in hand. _That_ was solid.

He didn't even hear the Norse words coming up from behind him. Didn't recognize them. Didn't realize his father was charging toward him at a sprint.

Kill.

Toothless didn't notice Stoick either. He was staring wide at Hiccup, backed into a corner on the battlefield. The dragon didn't _want_ to flee Hiccup and he didn't _want_ to harm him. So he fired off a warning blast - a plasma shot that intentionally missed Hiccup. A flash of blue streaked right past Hiccup.

And that's when Hiccup snapped out of the Bewilderbeast's control.

_What... happened?_

He was kneeling on the ground, panting. Drago was standing off at a distance, smirking. Toothless was staring, horrified, at something behind him. Hiccup turned around to see what it was.

Toothless' warning blast had hit Stoick square in the chest.


	12. Torment

**Torment [Rating: T for gore and torture references]**

**So, uhm, yikes. My last few drabbles have been pretty depressing lately. I've been responding to requests, but I'll try to make sure some of my next drabbles give levity instead of tears. It's good to have a variety of moods!**

Hiccup's hands shook.

_Oh my gods, no._

Trembled uncontrollably.

_No… no no no._

He felt bile rise in his throat and his stomach churn over. It was a wonder Hiccup wasn't vomiting now.

_How could Drago's men _do_ this? How could this be happening? This can't be real… no… no no, gods, no…_

Hiccup knelt down, not caring he splattered seawater and blood on his knees in the process. He leaned in, hands running very lightly - very gingerly - over the surface of the dragon's skin, barely touching the wounds for fear of igniting greater pain. Horrible, pussy, red-and-black welts swelled like mountains across lacerated ravines. Valleys of whip marks bled blood rivers, all of them dripping down onto the surface of the ship deck. Ribs jutted out between infected wheals, and it seemed like not a single scale of the poor dragon's hide had been unaffected by the brutal torture of human hands.

At least Toothless still breathed. Was still alive… and could be freed.

"I'm so sorry, bud, I'm so, so sorry…"

He could barely hear something rumble in the dragon's throat, something he assumed meant to be a forgiving burble, but came out as an agonized groan. Dulled eyes closed for a moment, then reopened, focusing on his beloved best friend. Toothless did not even have the energy to spare a stare of hope for his returned rider.

"Let's get you out of here," he choked.

Hiccup pulled out a knife to cut away Toothless' bonds. The dragon flinched, causing Hiccup to flinch right back at him. _Oh my gods,_ he thought, realizing why the dragon was cringing. He almost _did_ throw up this time. _Oh my gods._

He would never be able to forgive himself. Never. Losing Toothless to Drago once had been traumatizing enough. Losing Toothless to Drago a second time… the dragon subjected to _this…_

It was unbearable. Hiccup could feel every open wound, every welt, every bruise on his own skin, and he shuddered. Stifled a moan. Vision blurred, but he could not let himself sob yet; he had to rescue Toothless and get him off this ship before they encountered any more of Drago's dragon trappers.

His hands reached down. Thick rope bonds snapped beneath his knife blade, relieving the dragon of their bite after more than a week tied on this ship's deck. Hiccup kept himself vigilant, ears listening for any sounds of movement, knowing that some of Drago's men might still be aboard this boat.

_Dragon _torturers._ How could _anyone _be this cruel… how could _anyone…

Sawed at ropes harder, grip on the knife tightened. His knuckles whitened as he clenched the blade's firm hilt. He paused to throw a binding aside, revealing yet another laceration dug deep into Toothless' skin.

He couldn't take it.

He _attacked_ the next rope bonding Toothless. It cut away in half the time it took to snap the previous three.

_Gods, even his _wings_ were ripped._ Hiccup could only hope the dragon might still fly.

His eyes fixated on the ropes, his enemies, his horrible enemies, but he did force himself to look up to make sure he was not being approached.

And it was then he saw them.

_Two figures dressed in Drago's war gear._

They were coming aboard this ship.

Hiccup's movements halted; he realized he could not continue freeing Toothless without being seen. And this operation _needed_ to remain covert. _I'm sorry Toothless… I'll finish freeing you… I will… I'm so sorry… _Reluctantly he slipped backwards, burying himself amongst a pile of crates littered on the ship's deck. Hopefully these two soldiers would pass by quickly and notice neither the frayed bonds of the whip-torn black dragon, nor the shaking Hooligan Viking crouched nearby.

They stomped unfeelingly past Toothless, not even deigning to glance at the miserable heap of dragon skin beside them. Both of them marched right past Hiccup, pausing to speak to one another not far from where Hiccup hid. He clenched his teeth, infuriated, but forced himself to remain in hiding. Trying to keep his trembling hands still, he placed them on the crates behind which he hid. On them was engraved a simple insignia: two spears crossed at a thirty degree angle.

Drago's soldiers paused. Hiccup could watch them from his vantage point, and he did so cautiously, hoping that they would leave at once, that he could finish his mission and free his best friend. Fury frothed inside him, barely contained, as he spied on them. They wore heavy helmets, ones that covered their chin and lips and shaded their eyes.

It was then Hiccup noticed the seal on their shoulder plates.

Crossed spears.

_These_ were Toothless' torturers.

He didn't know what overcame him. It'd never happened before… nothing even _close._ In the heat of the moment he threw himself at them, pulling out his sword and igniting the blade. One of them grabbed his arm before he could plunge the flames into someone's chest; Hiccup yanked himself free of that grip, but his sword fell in the process. He didn't notice if anything caught fire. Now, holding only a knife, he sought to cut the nearest trapper, wrestling with both of them on the deck of the ship, and managing to slug one across the jaw with a brutal _crack_. He tore at them, shouting; his anger amplified his strength, giving him some vantage in the mad scramble on deck.

"This is for Toothless!" His knife hand came down, aimed straight for the chest.

"Hiccup! _Stop!_"

For a second time, a soldier caught his arm. Both of their bodies shook for a moment as they sought for control over the weapon. Hiccup, though, for all his fury, could not match the other's strength. The knife dropped from his hands.

And then he dropped to the floor of the ship.

For Astrid had pulled off her helmet. In horror she stared at him, hands hovering toward the chest he had almost stabbed. Above Hiccup, the other soldier pulled off his headgear, revealing Eret's twin brown eyes and pale blue chin tattoo. The tall man appeared just as shaken as his companion.

They had been on a covert mission themselves… had dressed themselves as Drago's soldiers…

…and Hiccup had mistaken them as Drago's own people.

This time he _did_ let the sobs come. The tears. He stared at the wood grains of the deck, bent over and shaking on the timbers, and let himself be overcome in weeping.


	13. The Trouble with Tribals

**The Trouble with Tribals [Rating: K+ for alcohol and mild sexual references]**

"Remember," Hiccup warned the gang before they even landed on the island, "this is the Murderous Tribe. They're hostile, they don't like Hooligans, and it was only twenty-or-so years ago when our tribes were at war. If we're _really_ going to do this -" and the whining plea in his voice suggested they simply turn aside "-then we can't tell them where we're from."

Everyone hovered high above the land mass. Snotlout's eyes glowed in excitement as he feasted upon the scenery. "Oh, we're doing this," he assured his cousin.

Alongside Hiccup, Astrid piped up, "We might as well. We're tired, our dragons are tired, and it's getting dark. We have to stop _somewhere_ for the night, and it might as well be civilization."

"Sleeping on beds instead of rocks," Snotlout dreamed.

"Warm food," added Ruffnut.

"No night watch!" Fishlegs cheered.

With an exasperated release of air, Hiccup deflated, acknowledging to himself that the riders were all set on their choice, and that neither logic nor persuasion would turn them aside from the comforts of the Viking halls below. Tonight they would be stopping at Murderous Island. He directed Toothless toward the jagged brown and green landscape below, worry fluttering in a rising heart rate. Everyone else swooped their dragons alongside him; all of them, dragon and rider, appeared far more eager for the event than he. Hiccup released a second sigh shortly following his first.

Tuffnut assured him, "Oh, we'll be fine," waving a carefree hand in Hiccup's direction. "Ruff an' I've already prepared this great cover story for times like this. We've been waiting to use it for _years_."

Snotlout, already prepared for something wild, grumbled, "Oh, this is going to be good. _Really_ good." Those words could not have been more sarcastic.

"So I'm Bufflenutty Nutkins, and this is my sister's cousin twice removed." He pointed to Ruffnut.

"Y'know a sister's cousin is just a cousin, right?" Hiccup commented. He - and everyone else flying toward Murderous Island - already appeared completely disinterested in the twins' tale.

And yet the Thorstons pursued it. "_Adopted_ sister's cousin twice removed," Tuffnut clarified. He held up a correcting finger and _tsk_ed Hiccup disapprovingly. "_Don't_ disrespect my adopted sister's cousin twice removed. She never got a name 'cause she was raised by an advanced colony of Terrible Terrors deep in the middle of an uninhabited island. That's why she looks so ugly and smells like rotten fish."

Ruffnut shot her brother a quick glare; she probably would have whacked him on the head could she have reached him. But because she also found some love and investment in their cover story, she instead simply piggybacked off him, "Yeah. So people just call me, 'Hey You.' Or, 'That Girl'."

"Don't forget 'What's-Her-Face'," Tuffnut prompted.

"Okay, this is dumb. Just shut up…" Snotlout groaned. Without saying a word, Astrid started flying faster, clearly intending to leave them and their inanity behind.

"After his father found _me_, 'Hey You,' naked, half-burnt, and crying alone on the island shores, they adopted me, and we sailed to the Island of Snargleflarble Kawinkeedink, which in their language means 'Land of the Living Sporks'…"

"Not a real island," Hiccup slipped in warningly.

"…but we didn't stay long 'cause we got chased out by demonic eight-legged squirrels."

"And then," said Ruffnut, continuing off from Tuffnut again, "we met a tribe of primitive weredragons - people who could transform from humans to dragon - you guys."

"HEY GUYS!" Snotlout shouted out as loudly as he could. "WHO WANTS TO HEAR A REALLY GREAT STORY ABOUT GOBBER FIGHTING A HAMMERHEAD YAK?!"

"And then there was this volcanic ice storm that chased us out on a-"

"OR MAYBE I WILL JUST SAY 'BLAH!' BLAH BLAH BLAH. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!"

"-dark and dangerous-"

"BLAH BLAH."

"-voyage where-"

"BLAH!"

"-the wind whipped-"

"BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Hiccup, holding his head in his hands, moaned, "Ooookay, we're done," and flew off after Astrid. As though fleeing the wrath of Odin, Toothless and Stormfly hurdled to Murderous Island and left everyone else bickering behind.

* * *

They landed deed in the hills, sinking down beneath the covered protection of deciduous forests. There the dragons remained while the Vikings marched up to the Murderous village for warm food and shelter. A moment later they found themselves sprawled on benches in the Great Hall, Tuffnut even lying supine on top a table - meaning Fishlegs was periodically required to yank his plate of mutton from Tuffnut's bare feet. When not avoiding the pungent plague of Tuffnut's toes, Fishlegs chomped down ravenously into his juicy meal. Astrid crunched through an apple in one hand and sharpened her axe with the other, straddling its handle between her knees and ankles. Hiccup, though, only nibbled his mutton, and stared somewhat uncomfortably, somewhat blankly, out at the mingling residents.

None of the Murderous Tribe members engaged their seated guests, but they definitely enjoyed one another's company. They tossed chicken legs and bellowing shouts to one another across the hall, or elsewise huddled up in tight-packed mobs to heartily whack comrades across the back. Everyone guffawed at crude cracked jokes. Hoots and whistles accompanied dialogue; cacophony rattled Great Hall benches, screams and shouts barging up against half-filled mugs of ale. Draughts passed freely from member to member. And also to Snotlout. Snotlout was the one Hooligan who dared to intermingle with the residents, exuberantly laughing with a young man near his age but twice his height.

The small bubble of excluded Berkians simply desired rest, not spirits. "We'll find that dragon tomorrow," Astrid assured Hiccup, pausing her axe sharpening task for a moment.

"That'd be great," he responded with a tinge of wearied optimism. "It's amazing to think we've been chasing this dragon all through the archipelago."

"You mean it's dumb," said Tuffnut. His feet swung out, knocking over one of Fishlegs' water glasses. The other Viking shrieked as a waterfall dumped onto his lap. "We're flying all this way just so that we can look at a dragon."

"A new _species_," emphasized Fishlegs as he rubbed at his wettened shirt.

"Whatever."

"Still not interested," grumbled Ruffnut. Then suddenly she cackled. "Hey Tuff, is Snotlout hitting on that guy over there?"

Everyone's eyes glanced over to where their companion stood. Snotlout was leaning backwards, laughing hysterically, as he continued conversation with the Murderous teen. The teen seemed less engaged in the conversation, perhaps even uncomfortable or grouchy about the young man clinging to his arm.

"I think he is," half the table mumbled.

"I also think he's getting drunk," Astrid pointed out. "Thor. I knew he said he wanted to relax, but this is a little much, isn't it?" She sounded slightly worried - not because she cared about Snotlout, but because she cared about the repercussions an inebriated Snotlout might bring. They hardly wanted to be kicked _out_ of Murderous Island before the night even ended. But, given the chance, Snotlout might be dumb enough to do something.

However, no one stood up to intervene. They all stared at their plates. Hiccup muttered, "I guess that's me then," stood up resolutely, and headed over to his cousin to steer him away from the drinks.

"So then I was sayin' to the sheef," Snotlout drawled, tipping his head in closer to his irritated conversant, "that _I_ should be rulin' Berk…"

_Oh great, just what we need. _Hiccup flinched as he came to Snotlout's side. He tried to appear casual as he stepped beside his cousin and glanced at the Murderous villager. _Maybe the guy won't notice what Snotlout said…_

"Wait… Berk?"

_Or… he could notice it right away. Great._

"He meant Birch," Hiccup said, glaring down at Snotlout warningly. With an awkward chuckle, scratching behind his head, Hiccup stuttered, "Not - not Berk, ooooh no. Nope."

"Whaddya mean? I did mean _Berk_," Snotlout protested.

"You know we don't exactly like Hooligans…" the Murderous warned. His face sunk into a rather serious and straight-browed frown. It was a little frightening how quickly his mood had swung. He leaned in toward Hiccup and Snotlout, alcohol perfuming his breath, and remarked, "If you are all from…"

"Nope. Nope. Don't listen to him." Hiccup tried to yank Snotlout along. Unfortunately, his cousin didn't budge.

"Why? What's your prob'm with Berk?" Snotlout was becoming defensive.

_Oh… Thor._

"Well, to start with, Hooligans killed my _father_..."

Hiccup tried to physically step in.

Over Hiccup's shoulder, Snotlout shouted, "Well, I'd kill'm again if he was as annoyinnas _you_."

Desperate amelioration attempts from Hiccup the Third. "Nice! As nice as you! You've been wonderful hosts..."

His voice went unheard. "Did you just threaten me?" Angry Murderous growl.

Belligerent retort. "Yeah, I just frettened you."

"You want to fight?"

"GODS! NO!" Hiccup shouted.

"You betcha." Snotlout tottered.

"_Astriiiiiid I need backuuuuup!"_

"Go right ahead, then. Hit me, low-life Hooligan."

"Snotlout, turn away. We can take a few insults..."

"I _will_ fight!" proclaimed Snotlout. "I'm 'mout to make the Murderous Tribe the Murdered!"

_Great, time for the _creative_ insults. Real good going, Snotlout. _"ASTRID WHERE ARE YOU?!"

"Oh yeah? Will you?" Snotlout's opponent taunted. He held his fists up, ready to attack. "Your tribe does nothing except tame overgrown ovens. Too bad you haven't been burnt alive by them."

"Dragons wouldn't..." Hiccup grumbled.

"Oh? You don't like dragons? That's right, you freaks _ride_ on them. Probably in both ways, haha."

Hiccup frowned. "Would you like to rephrase that?" he warned.

The man grinned. "You're right. That's all wrong. Wouldn't the dragons just ride _you_?"

No one knew who threw the first punch. Not Hiccup, not Snotlout, not the Murderous firebrand. Suddenly Hiccup _slammed_ up against the brute's chest, holding up his fists half to protect himself, half to retaliate from the inevitable. For there could be no placation now; they plunged into a free-for-all, swinging arms, knocking out legs, launching at one another's gut. Fist met jaw; Hiccup heard a large _snap_ shaking through his cheekbone. Teeth met blood.

He tried to grapple, reaching for the man's arm. A backhand threw him off while a kick swept him to the floor. He crashed. Tumbled. Rolled over to avoid descending boots. Knocked over his opponent, too. Tried to stand. Wrestled to the floor. And suddenly they were tumbling and spiraling about the floorboards, somersaulting and wheeling and battering limbs.

He was pinned. He didn't know how it happened. Just saw the world black as fist met face. _Bam._ Knuckle rose, dripping blood. Plunge down again. _Bam._ Hiccup tried to move, tried to squirm out. _Bam._ All snapped black, world returned fuzzily. _Bam._ Longer blip, just a flash of bright before _Bam._

"Snotlout!" he managed to scream out, and then what might have been a club or an elbow descended, and then he knew no more.

* * *

"Sorry," mumbled Snotlout when they rose up in the air again. His speech still sounded slurred, but after having drunk some water and attended to his wounds, his head had cleared up _some._

As far as Hiccup, he clung to Astrid, leaning up against her while she steered Toothless. Dragon wings beat heavily toward black, brooding cloud cover. Hiccup did not know if the night appeared so black because the moon was covered by cloud, or because he had not yet fully woken up from being pounded senseless. For everything - _everything_ \- hurt. His entire face throbbed as though it were trying to swell up and grow a second face on top his own.

"Just... be a little more careful next time," Hiccup moaned, forcing words out of bloated lips. "A... _lot_ more careful," he amended.

"I guess on the plus side," Astrid said, though her voice didn't sound too upbeat, "we didn't have to stay a night with _those_ Vikings. That was despicable! I heard what he said to you, Hiccup. That was _incredibly_ poor taste."

"Yeah. Not funny at all," Fishlegs seconded. He gave a little shake of his head and muttered, "Not appropriate at all."

"And I thiiiiiink," Astrid continued, "we all learned our lesson. Right?"

"Right," said Snotlout.

Hiccup dozed on her shirt.

"Right, Hiccup?"

"Hm?"

"You _started_ the fistfight, you know."

"What? No… no I didn't."

"You did."

"Yeah, he couldn't take a few insults," Snotlout barked up from behind them. For some reason, he found _this_ funny. "That guy could insult humans all he wanted - heck, he could've even insulted your dad - but as soon as they call a dragon an 'oven' you get offended..."

"I do not get offended when..."

"Yes, yes you do," Astrid said. "Remember that one time Hamfist called Toothless an 'overgrown newt'?"

Hiccup sighed. He tried to shift his weight, then immediately regretted it. Thor, there were even bruises on his _butt_. How did _that_ happen? Possibly when he fell to the floor... something like that. "Alright guys…" he concluded, missing the warm Great Hall already "...let's just say… next time we tell everyone we're from Snargleflarble Kawinkeedink."

Tuffnut sighed in pleasure. "Ahhhh. Land of the Living Sporks."


	14. Messenger Boy

**Messenger Boy [Rating: K+ for blood and gore]**

This time, it was not fake blood.

_Nothing_ about this was fake.

Hiccup recalled a situation in the past where everyone had charged frantically through the village, shouted, "Get Gothi! Get Gothi quickly!" and ushered their healer to the teenager sprawled pale and flaccid on the ground. A large gash on Tuffnut's head painted his face in a bloody pattern, more gruesome than any face painting he had done for Dragon Racing competitions. Yet Tuffnut, a moment later, had sprung to his feet, cackling, and crowing out that everyone had fallen for his prank.

Usually, with Tuffnut, it was fake blood. Elsewise, it was a small scrape to the knee, and he went about charging pitifully, "I'm hurt! I'm hurt! I'm very much hurt!" Either way, no one took him seriously.

No one _ever_ took him seriously.

It was different this time. Different. And Hiccup already could tell, though the Zippleback landed at a distance, though the forms of Ruffnut and Tuffnut were vague blurs in his vision, though he could not yet read the details of Tuffnut's injury. This time it was different. Ruffnut would not be clinging to her hair so frantically, or running about, hollering and waving her hands, were it a prank – she could act well, but not _that_ well. And Barf would not be turning his head, concerned, to stare at the unmoving form on Belch's neck – nor would multiple Vikings be carefully lifting that same unmoving form from Belch's saddle – did Tuffnut intend to pull a prank.

Yes, it was different this time, and it was not fake blood.

One moment Hiccup stood at the heights of the Berk village near his home. The next, he charged down an incline, rushing between huts, squeezing past Vikings, slipping and sliding on his prosthetic, spinning about the crowds, racing fast fast fast fast _fast_ as he could to where the Hideous Zippleback had landed. Startled exclamations followed Hiccup's path; Vikings threw themselves to the side to avoid collision. Still the chief ran. Still he launched himself forward, past apple carts and sheep and yaks and burly-armed women and hairy men and houses and dragons and…

He made it.

A small crowd already congregated around Barf and Belch, murmuring worriedly. Most people leaned down toward some unseen form on the ground. When they noticed the chief, though, they parted, slicing themselves in two so that a clear path opened up to Tuffnut. Only Gothi remained where she was, tending to Tuffnut's wounds.

Hiccup approached. Though he neared and bent down aside Gothi, the severity of Tuffnut's nearly drove him back again. He had to force himself to look at the gore.

_Oh my gods…_

An unmoving head drooled blood – not saliva – which puddled alongside a terrible tear in his shoulder, one that exposed chewed chunks of juicy meat and bone peeking through like whitened maggots. Tattered shirt rags soaked the red of several gashes across his chest – thankfully superficial, but still long. Like spots purple bruises rose everywhere, including Tuffnut's left eye.

_What just happened…_

It was one of the first times Hiccup had taken Tuffnut seriously. He rather wished he were still thinking the young man a prankster and a lazy fool.

At once he whirled around, seeking Ruffnut. Found her immediately. A worried narrative exploded out from her, detailing loudly to Gothi, the crowd, and the entire village of Berk what had transpired.

"We weren't trying to fly too close to the army, I swear! We were just flying back to Berk. That's all. We actually weren't looking for trouble for once. Didn't see anything coming. If we'd seen anything coming, we wouldn't have gone that way. But then he…"

Hiccup straightened his shoulders, tightened his neck, and took in a shaky breath. _Her ramble doesn't make any sense. Have to figure out what happened._ Wished internally that whatever it was, it _hadn't_ happened.

Gently Hiccup reached out, hands hovering near her shoulder, and touched Ruffnut as lightly as she could. She shirked back, stiffened as though to punch him, but ultimately did not retaliate beyond a glare. Blue eyes met Hiccup's green. She immediately shifted audiences in her speech, but still continued shouting. "Hiccup! We didn't do anything I swear!"

"I believe you," he assured her, holding his hands outward and trying to gesture her to relax. His hand motions calmed her none.

"We didn't do anything…"

"I believe you," he repeated more firmly. Intently he stared at her and exchanged a mirrored expression of worry. "Ruffnut, what happened?"

"We were flying back to Berk and then some of - I think they were _Drago's_ men - appeared out of _nowhere_." Thankfully, her narrative was more comprehensible this time, even if her voice remained on edge. "They shot nets out of the sky and took us down. First they took Tuffnut away, said they wanted to question him… I dunno, something like that. I managed to escape with Barf and Belch and grab him, but…"

Both Hiccup and Ruffnut glanced toward Tuffnut, still unconscious, still being attended to by Gothi.

"How long were they with him?"

"Not long. Just a minute. Or five. I don't know, I can't count. I think my brother tried to escape and they just attacked him. Stupid idiot. No one can win a fight ten against one. Even _I_ know that."

_So Drago's men took Barf and Belch down, fought with Tuffnut, and then the twins left._

"I'm glad you're safe," he told Ruffnut, and forced himself once more to Tuffnut. "And he'll be alright. Won't he?"

Gothi shrugged.

_Oh Thor._ Hiccup's heart lost a beat and he felt himself pale. Beside him, Ruffnut's face turned even whiter. "He might be a complete brainless muttonhead but he's still my _brother_."

"Relax," Hiccup said, though he hardly felt relaxed himself. Nausea ate at him, that and worry. _Who knew I'd feel like this about Tuffnut… _"Gothi will do what she can."

* * *

Gothi yanked Hiccup's hand and dragged him into the Thorston hut half a day later. The chief contributed no say to this arrangement, simply stumbled after the shorter woman as she pulled his hand into the hut, toward a bed, and ultimately to where Tuffnut lay.

"Hey Hiccup. Looking like a dweeb as always, very nice," the bandaged man on the bed greeted. His voice sounded… _off_… perhaps from the pain, perhaps from Gothi's medications. Tuffnut did not move much, nor looked as though he could move much. Exhaustion glazed his eyes.

"Tuffnut, now isn't the time to –"

"Whoa, relax. You're always so stiff." He laughed, which promptly turned into a cough. After hacking into his hand from a moment, the cough noise tearing out his throat in the process, he turned to Berk's chief and croaked, "Got something to tell you about those stupid heads I fought on the boat."

"What is it?" Hiccup stared at him with widened eyes.

"Three somethings, actually. Or two… two… three…" Tuffnut concentrated on counting his fingers, oscillating between his numerical options uncertainly.

"Tuffnut, just tell me." Even an injured Tuffnut could be exasperating, apparently. Worrying, but also still irksome.

"Alright, alright. Hold your dragons." A cumbersome shift on the bed. A wince. And then he continued. "First off, they _have_ dragons. Still got dragons."

"But after I fought the Bewilderbeast away from Berk…"

"Yeah, I know. Weird, isn't it? Looks like he's still _got_ his Bewilderbeast and can still get some dragons for his army. And also…"

Tuffnut's voice, weak as it was, drew Hiccup in. The chief leaned carefully, worriedly, closer.

"I think they said something like, they're about ready to go back. Fight. Again."

Berk's year of peace, during which Drago had remained hidden and stayed away, not seeking conflict, was apparently at an end.

"Thanks for telling me," Hiccup responded to his companion. "I'll make sure we're ready for them."

"I'll bloody their fists with my face…"

"No," said Hiccup. "You're staying with Gothi." He turned to Gothi and said, "Make sure he stays here."

"I'll be better in no time," the man babbled even as his chief exited the hut. Tuffnut's voice still sounded groggy, but increasingly less so as he continued yammering. At least the voice naturally faded as Hiccup left him behind. "You'll see. Belch will help me stand up. Or sit. Sit at least. I can fight on him. Because when I see those guys, you can bet that I won't let them take my dragons, I won't let them…"

_Well,_ thought Hiccup as Tuffnut's voice faded into indistinctness, _at least it sounds like he'll recover._

He stepped toward the shore and stared out to the sea. Dragons circled Berk, dipping in and out of colored clouds, flashing in and out of the sunset. Nightmares shot up to the end of the horizon, Nadders to the peak of the sky.

_And at least this means we know that Drago will be back._

_We'll be ready for him._


	15. Alone on Hero's End

**Alone on Hero's End [Rating: K]**

**This is a drabble for the How to Train Your Dragon book series. It's an AU to the first chapter of "How to Fight a Dragon's Fury." Therefore, for people who haven't read the book series, I will warn you that this drabble might not make toooo much sense and contains spoilers besides.**

**Also, I've been getting a lot of sad requests lately, and while I'm_ totally_ pleased to write sad requests and will keep writing more until Ragnarok comes or requests stop coming, it'd be great to get some more happy fluff in "Memoirs," too! Feel free to pop in some ideas if you'd like a bit of a mood shift in some of my future drabbles! I'd be happy to write some more happy in addition to some of the great tragedy prompts I've gotten.**

* * *

On the last Day of Doomsday, known as the Doomsday of Yule, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third lay unconscious on a beach on the little isle of Hero's End.

Hiccup had always been an unremarkable-looking boy for a Viking Hero, with one of those ordinary faces that was difficult to remember. But now he was a truly pitiable sight, like a broken scarecrow that someone had accidentally trod on. Half in and half out of the water, strewn with seaweed, his clothes ragged and in ribbons about him, two black eyes, face clawed by dragons' talons, body coated in sea salt. He had been bitten on the hand by a Vampire Spydragon the previous day, so his left arm had swollen up, and his whole left-hand side was a strange purple color.

And he was utterly alone.

The boy's eyelids fluttered. Then the boy's eyelids opened. Or rather, one of them did. The other eye was so swollen and bruised, he could barely open it at all.

He then sat up with a groan, coughing, and put a hand to his forehead which ached as if Thor the blacksmith was bringing down his hammer on it repeatedly from the inside and outside with such ringing blows that Hiccup's ears sang with the pain.

"Where am I?" whispered Hiccup, coughing up sea-water and struggling for breath.

But there was no one to tell him. The waves on the beach just said, _You are looooost. You are looooost._

"What am I doing?" whispered Hiccup.

"And most importantly… _who_ am I?"

The waves on the beach could tell him nothing. Poor Hiccup had lost his memories, and no one could tell him who he was, where he was, or what he was doing.

Hiccup would need to find that out for himself.

He tried to look around. It was hard to do with two swollen eyes, only one of them partially open, but he could still see that there were no other humans around him. There seemed to be no living _things_ around him, for that matter. Only water. Only sand.

"I'm really beat up," he said, looking at himself. "I can't sit on this beach… WHEREVER it is… all day. I need to find someone to HEAL me."

He tried standing up. That took several times, but at last he managed. Then Hiccup began shuffling to the center of the island away from the beach, looking for some sign of human life, looking for someone who could help him. Maybe that person could tell him who he was. At the very least, he should be able to learn WHERE he was.

It turns out Hiccup was on a very small island. It didn't take him too long to go from one side to the other. He found nothing that could help him. On one side of the island there seemed to be some graves, on another beach, there were some wrecked ships. But there was no sign of living life on this island NOW.

Except for HIM.

"What am I doing here?" he marveled, feeling more and more confused by the minute. "How did I get here? How do I LEAVE here?"

He found the remains of one recently wrecked ship on the shore of the beach and guessed, "I think I was shipwrecked here."

That was not much information about himself, but at least it was SOMETHING. He clung onto the driftwood he found because he had nothing else to do.

Now it was a dreadful day, a bit cold, and with a fog so dense and thick that you could barely see your hand out in front of you.

It meant that, when Hiccup saw some shadows in the sky, moving quickly through the fog, he got scared and tried to scramble for cover. Unfortunately there was no good cover on this island, so he ended up just scrambling to the center of the island, holding his pitiful piece of driftwood in his right hand, and ducking down. He hoped that whoever - WHATEVER - that shadow was, it would not notice him and pass him by.

The shadow descended.

It was an enormous dragon with three heads. Two humans jumped off its back and began running straight for Hiccup. Although Hiccup didn't know it, these were his friends Camicazi, Fishlegs, and the Deadly Shadow.

This was all too much for memory-less Hiccup. To him, these Vikings and this dragon were ATTACKING him.

"Get away!" he shouted, trying to stumble back. He could barely walk because of his injuries. "Leave me alone!"

The girl shouted to him, "HICCUP! Get on the dragon! Let's GO! We need to go NOW!"

"Get the dragon away from me!" Hiccup said, scared that this unknown person was yelling at him. "I'm not getting on the back of that thing!"

Camicazi kept trying to near him. Hiccup kept backing up. " It's US, silly, OPEN YOUR EYES! Now hurry UP and get ON! We're running out of time!"

"No. That dragon could eat me."

"It's US, YOU LUNATIC HOOLIGAN!" said Camicazi exasperatedly. "Don't your recognize US? We're your FRIENDS, and that dragon is your FRIEND, and we're here to HELP YOU."

"I don't know," said Hiccup. He _did_ want to be rescued, but he also didn't like the idea of getting on the back of a dragon. It didn't seem like True Rescuers would ask him to do something so dangerous, so it seemed that these two Viking children had to be tricking him. Why, he had no idea, but he got the instinctual feeling inside him that he shouldn't trust them. Hiccup tried to hold out his driftwood like a sword. It wouldn't do much good, but it made him feel a little better and more secure.

"I don't know if you're here to help me," Hiccup continued nervously. "But I DO know that dragons are dangerous. And that I don't want to get on one. I don't want to be here. I can't trust you. I can't trust anything."

"Come on, don't be stupid! We don't have the TIME," the girl insisted. She seemed to be getting frustrated. "You know you're supposed to SAVE the dragons."

"SAVE the dragons? Hiccup was starting to think maybe he _didn't_ want to regain his memories. "Why should I care about something that could swallow me whole without working up an appetite! Are you MAD?"

"Are YOU?"

Yes, the girl was definitely getting frustrated.

"If I am mad, it's not as mad as you," Hiccup insisted. "So I'm staying… RIGHT HERE."

And he planted himself where he was - at least as much as he could, with a floppy left side - and stared at her adamantly with his one open eye.

Camicazi's jaw dropped.

"Oh for the love of THOR. You are NOT giving up now, Hiccup."

"I JUST WANT TO LIVE!"

Camicazi snapped.

Now readers, you must not look down on Camicazi for snapping. In all fairness, she _was_ in a very difficult situation. She was worried about the extinction of the human race and the disappearance of the dragons, and that does tend to make people stressed. Hiccup refusing to come with them was just one thing too many to what was already the most stressful day of her entire life.

So Camicazi started to yell, her usual Bog-Burglar coolness gone.

"YOU SLUG-WITTED, SEAWEED-BRAINED, PATHETIC PIECE OF PLANKTON!" she screeched. "DON'T YOU REALIZE THAT YOU CAN'T STOP NOW? THE WAR HAS KILLED PEOPLE. IT'S _KILLED_ PEOPLE, HICCUP! AND IT'S GOING TO MAKE US _**EXTINCT**_ UNLESS _YOU_ DO SOMETHING! ALVIN IS GOING TO TAKE OVER AND ENSLAVE ALL OF US! OR FURIOUS IS GOING TO KILL US ALL IN FIRE! YOU _CAN'T_ JUST GIVE UP LIKE THIS, HICCUP! YOU WANT TO LIVE, HUH? WELL, HOW ABOUT WE _ALL_ GET TO LIVE? I'VE RISKED MY LIFE SO THAT YOU CAN BE KING AND I DIDN'T DO IT JUST SO YOU COULD RUN AWAY NOW!"

Fishlegs had been watching everything silently until this point. Now he spoke up, and asked, "Camicazi, I don't think he recognizes us."

"Of COURSE HE RECOGNIZES US. We are his BEST FRIENDS. NOW COME ON, YOU COWARDLY CUTTLEFISH, YOU PLANKTON-HEARTED RUNAWAY! FOR THE LOVE OF THOR, I THOUGHT YOU WERE A BETTER HERO THAN THIS, HICCUP!"

"I actually… don't… recognize you," said Hiccup slowly. He was starting to be very scared and very uncomfortable with what was going on. "I don't know who I am. I don't know anything."

"I think he actually means it, Cami," said Fishlegs.

Camicazi halted her rant with her mouth wide open. She stared at Hiccup in complete disbelief.

And at last Hiccup finally could explain. "I'm sorry," he shivered miserably. "I can't remember who I am, or why I am here, or anything at all."


	16. Hand-to-Claw Combat

**Hand-to-Claw Combat [Rating: K]**

Though the day was late, sun hanging over the shadow-spotted ocean with an impending sense of closure, Hiccup still entered the Dragon Academy. Shadows leaned forward into the arena at such an angle almost no light touched his hair; that light which did reach the enclosure was muted, feeble, dying. Behind Hiccup, another much livelier shadow trailed him: Toothless, energized at the thought of a sunset flight around the island. They always ended the day with such a flight. Yet Hiccup still needed to complete some tasks at the Academy before concluding the day and enjoying the night with his dragon.

"Just a moment, bud," he pleaded to Toothless, waving his hands in gentle protest. He and the dragon passed through the iron bars of the arena gate and stepped into the Academy proper. "I just have to grab some notes I took earlier today, and then we'll go flying."

Yet at that moment Hiccup stopped. It appeared he and Toothless were not the only dragon-Viking pair out and about; an axe-wielding acrobat tumbled forward rapidly, handspringing several times before releasing her blade and throwing it at a target. Stormfly cawed excitedly when Astrid hit her mark successfully.

"I will never understand how you do that," Hiccup marveled. He glanced at the axe embedded in the target, wondering if he even possessed the upper body strength to pull the weapon out from the wood.

Brushing her bangs out from her eyes and sauntering past Hiccup with an air of confidence, Astrid puffed, "Simple. Practice." Easily she yanked out her weapon, then started pacing back to the other end of the arena for another trial. "You should understand that idea, with all the drills you have us go through at the Academy. Speaking of… what are we planning for tomorrow?"

"It's uh, it's a… _surprise_," Hiccup detailed. He scratched behind his ears, fumbling at his hair at the same time he fumbled for a response.

"Oh really?" The blonde leaned on her axe handle and rose her eyebrows skeptically. "You haven't even thought about what we're doing tomorrow, have you?"

"Well… no." He deflated.

She observed, "A little unusual for you to be disorganized about Academy matters."

"I know, I know, I know. It's just… we've already had a good week and done so many things. Flight training drills for maneuverability and speed. Trust exercises. And we've done dragon trivia three times in the last three days."

"I've got an idea." She pointed, gestured as though poking him, and then resumed her leaning posture on the axe. "How about_ I_ plan some training exercises for tomorrow?"

"Wait… what… you?" Hiccup paused, realizing at once how much he had assumed the burden of the Dragon Academy. With all his enthusiasm about dragons… he must have simply taken the work on his own doing without much thinking about it. Of course he led the Dragon Academy… but at this point he noticed how much work and time he actually put _into_ it. _Wow. _Come to think of it… a break would be nice.

"Actually," he perked up, "that'd be great. I know I can count on you, Astrid."

"You won't regret it," she assured him, then picked up her axe to aim at the target once more.

* * *

"Good morning," Hiccup greeted to the assembled riders and dragons, looking over everyone with a sense of optimism and energy. His eyes roved first to the twins, standing with their weight back on one foot and crossing arms; to Barf and Belch, hovering unassumingly but protectively behind them; to Snotlout and Hookfang, both displeased to be up at this early hour, yawning covertly at regular intervals; to Fishlegs and Meatlug, cuddling like a pair of newlyweds; and lastly to Astrid, who seemed to be in just as good of spirits as he. Stormfly lingered right behind her, but had picked up on Astrid's sense of anticipation; the dragon stood with a brightly raised head and a sense of interest in going-ons. _I should have passed around the responsibility of coming up with training exercises ages ago,_ Hiccup thought to himself. _Astrid's a great rider and we can learn a lot from her. _"Today's training exercises are actually Astrid's ideas, so I'll turn it over to her."

"Astrid?" Snotlout asked. His voice betrayed both skepticism and surprise. Standing with his arms across his chest, he stared at her cynically, remarking, "This'll be interesting."

For once Astrid managed to receive a rude Snotlout remark without charging forward and attacking him. She did, however, spare him a stare that contained more than a fair share of irritation. "Sure it'll be," she said. "It'll be great for all of us. Today, we're going to do something Stormfly and I like to do for our training… a little something I like to call… hand-to-claw combat."

Fishlegs raised a hand. It was a timid motion, his hand barely even coming up to the height of his forehead. Astrid still noticed it.

"Yes, Fishlegs?"

His voice came out as a slightly nervous squeak. "Uhm, this isn't what it sounds like, is it?"

"It's exactly what it sounds like. With Alvin and Dagur around, we have to know how to fight. Our dragons have to know how to fight. What better way to practice than to have some _hand-to-claw_ combat where _we_ fight our _dragons_?"

"That doesn't sound like a good idea…" Fishlegs and Meatlug were looking at one another with horror; Fishlegs seemed ready to rush forth and cling to her in a deep hug rather than engage in any sort of physical sparring.

Snotlout snorted. "Oh, you wimp," he scoffed. "Hookfang and I'll show you how it's done."

"That's the spirit," said Hiccup, turning to Toothless. "What do you say, bud?"

Toothless responded by energetically whacking Hiccup across the ear with his forepaw. Even as Hiccup shouted out, "I wasn't ready," the dragon jumped forward again, butting Hiccup with his head, and causing the Viking to tumble backward onto his rear. The two then began pawing at one another, Hiccup calling out, "Toothless! This is an exercise! Not a joke!" But as the dragon continued to swipe at him, Hiccup's voice changed to a far more playful tone. He almost seemed to forget others surrounded them. "Oh no! Dragon attack! I'm down, it's starting to get ugly, it's…"

Toothless leaned forward to give his killing blow: an enormous lick that smothered Hiccup head to torso. "Awwww, Toothless!" he groaned behind layers of dripping saliva, nearly choking on some spit as he cried out protests. His hair dripped, drenched. When Hiccup rolled away and pulled himself off the ground, everyone could see a Hiccup-shaped patch of dry dirt surrounded within a mud-soaked puddle.

As everyone around Hiccup gawked, he complained, "Toothless, I'm going to have to wash out this shirt now before I go to bed. Assuming this can even _be_ washed out." He stared at his own soaked clothes with skepticism. Under his breath, he finished, "I _bet_ it doesn't wash out…"

Others jutted into the conversation. Snotlout pooh-poohed, "That is _so_ not hand-to-claw combat. I don't know _what_ that is, but Hookfang and I are _real_ fighters. We'll show 'em, won't we, Hooky?"

The dragon blasted out flames in agreement, almost scorching his rider in the process. For once, Snotlout avoided the fire before it ignited his butt.

"And it's fighting we'll be practicing!" Astrid took charge of the lesson, exclaiming, "Like this!" and then launching herself at Stormfly to demonstrate. She and her dragon began an elaborate dance, one where she tumbled about the spine-sharp tail, and Stormfly lunged down with her jaws, and Astrid spun about the sharp teeth, too, raising up her hands to try to land a practice hit. The dragon and human exchanged attacks with claw and hand, each of them evenly-matched. Their familiarity in the exercise was evident.

One-by-one, the Vikings and dragons joined in activity, some more readily than others. Snotlout and Hookfang lunged into it eagerly, the Monstrous Nightmare coming forward to bat at Snotlout's raised forearm. His rider, in turn, shouted out belligerent challenges. The twins flung themselves into a complicated, hurricaning tangle of three people, four heads, and twelve limbs. Beneath two screaming twins, the poor Zippleback appeared to be losing the battle and retreating into a corner of the Academy. Meanwhile, Hiccup and Toothless attempted to be more aggressive, but reverted back to play-wrestling; Fishlegs and Meatlug stared at one another for a long, long time before finally exchanging one tentative hand-claw swipe. It looked more like a high five than any attempt at sparring.

"Good job, Meatlug?" peeped Fishlegs, holding both his elbows tight to his side as he tried to reach forward to his dragon again. They exchanged another soft high-five. "Hand… to claw… combat…"

When Astrid disengaged from Stormfly, she noticed the variable levels of intensity in which everyone partook her exercise. Fishlegs and Meatlug were barely even moving, while it seemed a miracle someone hadn't died in the Thorston scuffle.

"Everyone!" Astrid hailed. Then, when only half of the people responded, she shouted out louder, "Everyone!" This caught peoples' attention; even the twins – very, very reluctantly – quit hitting each other. "New strategy," she declared. "I'm going to have you fight each _other's_ dragons. Fishlegs, Hookfang, you're up first."

The Monstrous Nightmare blasted a triumphant pillar of flame to the skies at the same time Fishlegs eloquently articulated, "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee…"

The next moment, Fishlegs was screaming, throwing his hands in the air in horror, and _charging_ to the other side of the arena as fast as he could. Behind him Hookfang thundered to pursue his prey. Everyone else backed away in a hurry, but could not keep their eyes off the spectacle; around and around the ring Hookfang chased the Viking, Fishlegs screaming, Hookfang periodically lashing out with his front wings to engage in the assigned "hand-to-claw combat."

"That's right, Fangster!" Snotlout whooped. "Take 'im down!"

"Astrid…" Hiccup started, tentatively. He reached out to try to touch her and warn her how this would backfire. She did not notice, but kept her eyes forward on the exercise. "Um, Astrid."

"Yeah?" a slightly distracted response this time.

"You know what might happen if…"

"OW!" a shout from the far side of the Dragon Academy. "MY HAAAAAAND!"

"That's blood!" the Thorstons screeched exuberantly as one.

"That's blood," said Hiccup, charging out. He burst forward to grab Hookfang on the thigh, signaling the dragon to stop. Next he darted to Fishlegs, looking at the boy's hand, and assessing the severity of the injury.

"Alright, training exercise over," he declared. "Let's get you to Gothi."

"Aw, c'mon, it's just a little blood," protested Snotlout, and then screamed a moment later as his excited dragon turned back to him to continue the fight. "NO NO NO HOOKFANG STOP! STOOOOOOP! YOU HEARD HICCUP – TRAINING OVER!"

Hand-to-claw combat ended as many exercises with Hookfang did… Snotlout screaming out and charging to the nearest water trough to douse his butt from flames. As smoke was quenched and the fire abruptly put out, Snotlout voiced what everyone felt about the hand-to-claw training exercise ending: "Ahhhhhahahahhhhh! Sweet relief!"


	17. Battle of Berk

**Battle of Berk [Rating: K]**

They had been flying all night. At first it had been a rush of exhilaration, speeding between glacier cliffs on the backs of infant Scuttleclaws, his heart pounding with the rushing speed, heart pounding with the anticipation of once more confronting Drago face-to-face. He might not have been feeling precisely _confident_ then, but he had been feeling _determined_ to meet up once more with the dragon army's warlord.

The night's hours had flashed past as quickly as the landscape which rushed past them. Snowbanks and mountaincliffs metamorphosed into snowless rocky crags metamorphosed into wide expanses of unbroken sea. Now Hiccup and his companions floated through viscous gray, gray fog, and he was beginning to feel a different stir of emotions inside him than before. The resolute grimness with which he had commenced this journey now dwindled into an uneasy, stomach-upsetting nervousness. He felt his gut roil uncomfortably beneath him, and his heart pounded less from excitement and more from anticipatory fear. Hiccup _knew_ they were drawing near to Berk. Even though all around them floated endless fog, he _knew_.

And that meant he could be dying within the hour.

It wasn't so easy to steel himself now that bloody images of his father's death were flashing back into his mind. Hiccup could still _feel_ the thick blood of his father's corpse of his fingertips, even though he had long since washed his hands in the sea. But he could still _feel_ it, and he could hear Drago's voice again proclaiming, "Witness true strength. In the face of it, you are nothing."

_You are nothing…_

And the wind howled louder.

Fog licked around Hiccup's arms as he led his small party of Scuttleclaw riders over the unseen ocean. He looked behind him at his companions, all of them riding squawking dragons, but otherwise pursuing him silently. Hiccup turned forward again. Slowly, shapes coalesced within the clouds: the enormous twin stone statues which always oversaw Berk. As soon as they passed through the last tendrils of cloudcover, seeing Berk more clearly in sight, Hiccup gasped. He turned around the ruins of the proud statue, now torn apart by dragons… and caught his first glimpse of his hometown.

He had seen Berk suffer onslaughts from many enemies. He had seen houses burnt time and time again during the early dragon raids. He had seen Whispering Deaths rip up holes in the ground of the city streets. He had seen Berserkers raid the village and destroy a few homes. He had seen the colossal Purple Death attack the village proper. Yet even through all of that, nothing could prepare him for the disaster he witnessed now. It came about slowly as he cycled around the crushed statue, for he could see between the cracks and gaping holes a mass of swarming dragons. And when he passed the fallen warrior, he could see the impossibly enormous shape of the Bewilderbeast seated on the island, around which all the other tiny dragons flocked. The other dragons were mere gnats that buzzed over this monstrosity. The Bewilderbeast half-hung off the side of the island, for he was so enormous, and made the village so small in comparison, that Berk was only a half-suitable perch for him. Ringing around the Bewilderbeast – where the houses should had been – were spires of shining ice.

"No," Hiccup breathed, barely capable of comprehending it. Behind him, he heard Fishlegs exclaim, "They took all the dragons!" And indeed when Hiccup looked, he realized that those miniscule creatures which hovered over the island like a cloud were not just Drago's army – but every beast which had ever made its home on Berk. Now all of them swarmed together as locusts under the Bewilderbeast's bidding. Drago's armada was nowhere to be found – perhaps the men were floating in fog cover – but the presence of the Bewilderbeast and all the dragons made for more than enough trouble.

Grimly Hiccup surveyed his home for a minute more. This development meant his proud tribe of warriors were near enough defenseless against Drago and the Bewilderbeast. He frowned, braced himself for the coming storm, and shouted out to the others, "Distract the alpha! Try to keep his focus off of Toothless." Hiccup could not see the Night Fury, but he knew that he had to be somewhere. Drago had ridden Toothless away, and he had to still be around Toothless now. While the others distracted the enormous Bewilderbeast, Hiccup would have to sneak in, locate his best friend, and hopefully… successfully… work together with his best friend to turn Drago away.

That is, if he didn't die in the process of trying.

His heart began pounding heavily against his breastplate. The entire plate throbbed against his chest. This was it. This might be his death. But his sense of determination had returned, and now that Hiccup viewed the horrid grimness of the situation, he was more resolute than ever to try to save the tribe.

To try to save his friend. _Toothless._ A pang in his heart. _Toothless, I'm coming._

He might die in the process, but he couldn't make any other choice than to get Toothless back. His plan relied on it. And even if the plan failed… at least he would have tried.

This was it. They flew forward, Scuttleclaw babies carrying them the last stretches to their homeland.

Hiccup didn't hear the chatter behind him as he surged forward. "Uh, how?" Tuffnut was asking, and Eret bragging something back. But all that mattered now to Hiccup was approaching Toothless; the others would figure a way to do their part. He could count on them.

As Hiccup and his tiny flock approached, he began to hear noises below them. The villagers were cheering at his approach, and he distally heard someone shout up, "Hey look! It's Hiccup!" The Bewilderbeast noticed them too, and the entire mountain shifted from its spot on the edge of Berk's cliff to stare them in the eye. There was no sky, there was no sea, there was no land: just the face of an impossible large monstrosity.

A tiny black fleck hovered above the Bewilderbeast's left tusk. Hiccup's eyes shot immediately to it. _Toothless. And Drago, still riding him._ He arced toward what he saw, looping around to approach. Only belatedly did he realize he needed to slow; Hiccup pulled the Scuttleclaw back, hovering morseo than moving forward, as he tried to analyze how he could approach his friend and his enemy without becoming the Bewilderbeast's focus.

As an answer, a sleep launched in the air and bleated protestingly. His companions had indeed found a method by which to distract the Bewilderbeast. "Keep 'em coming!" Ruffnut shouted from below the ground. A moment later the dragon racing horn bellowed from elsewhere on the island. Hiccup could see the Bewilderbeast turn, eyes focused on the ground.

_Perfect…_ He urged the Scuttleclaw infant forward again toward Toothless. He made his way upward, leaving the sounds of the ground behind him, leaving behind the grouchy bellows and roars of the mocked Bewilderbeast, and the ever-fading cackles of the Vikings playing those jokes. Here, up in the air, Hiccup again returned to fog, and to a greater wind which roared about his ears. His hands and cheeks stung from the lash of bitter cold, but he barely even noticed.

Fear was gripping him even more. He puffed out his cheeks and blew out the air nervously, attempting to steel himself for what was ahead. Backing away… plasma blast… explosion… blood… death… chasing Toothless away. His father gone because of his best friend. Toothless had been mindless then, killing Stoick without thought.

Toothless could very well kill another Viking soon.

Fear. Hiccup inched forward, nearing Toothless, and nearing the warlord who rode on his back.

Drago's voice cut through cloud. "You certainly are hard to get rid of," he said from on top the Night Fury, looking upon Hiccup with a combination of irritation and disgust. "I'll say that."

The man wasn't why Hiccup was here. He spoke up, but not for him.

"Toothless?" his words came out with a fearful crack. The sounds trembled, shaking, as much as he could feel his entire body shake beneath him. He was jittering horribly, his hands vibrating with so much intensity he could barely keep hold on the Scuttleclaw. Hiccup choked, trying to swallow, trying to find his voice. He inched forward, staring at the unseeing eyes of his ex-best friend.

Toothless' pupils were blinded slits, nothing blinking, nothing registering that something was even flying before him. Toothless couldn't notice that Hiccup was nearing him – Toothless didn't even know _anything_ was nearing him at all. The dragon was senseless, mindless, not moving beyond flapping his wings to mechanically hover.

The same eyes as the dragon which had killed his father.

Hiccup choked again, but knew he needed to speak up. He tried again. "Hey…" His voice was low, uncertain, the cautious over-gentle tone anyone took when approaching a deadly animal. "It's me, bud. It's me. I'm right here, bud." He could only hope his words sounded encouraging, hopeful, inviting moreso than terrified.

_Don't shoot me don't shoot me don't shoot me don't shoot me…_

He forced himself to release his death grip on the Scuttleclaw, and reach out a hand toward Toothless. They were still far away, several dragon lengths from Toothless' snout, but even reaching out his hand from this distance sparked him with fear – especially when Toothless didn't respond. The mindless dragon stared out unmovingly at nothing.

"Come back to me." It hurt for Hiccup to recall he had chased his best friend away… leaving Toothless for Drago… but it feared him to say those words, too. He feared that Toothless wouldn't respond, that Toothless never would come back to him.

And Drago laughed. "He's not yours anymore. He belongs to the alpha. But please, great dragon master, _try_ to take him. He would not miss a second time."

Hiccup and the Scuttleclaw slowly inched forward. He kept his hand out, and his eyes intent on the Night Fury. It was true… he could die now… he feared to die… but even as Drago mocked Hiccup, he realized something: he couldn't stay away from Toothless, even with the threat of death.

Hiccup spoke up to remind himself – to remind Toothless, if Toothless could hear beneath the mind control – of who the dragon really was. He needed to remember. Needed to process that this Night Fury wouldn't kill him. Needed to admit aloud that his best friend had done no wrong, even though Stoick was dead.

"It wasn't your fault, bud," he murmured. As soon as Hiccup said it, he knew it to be true, even it was hard to speak even euphemistically of what had happened. "They… _made_… you do it." He drew nearer, reached out his hand further. He'd be able to touch Toothless soon – a dragon which still seemed unable to respond to his words. Hiccup waited, holding out his hand, sneaking ever-so-closer, and watched as, for the first time, Toothless moved his head. He shook it, emitted a low growl, and caught Hiccup in the eye.

The pupils had expanded… then contracted back to slits.

_But they still had expanded._

"You'd never hurt him."

Coming closer. Toothless' pupils dilated then contracted.

"You'd never hurt me."

A groan low in the Night Fury's throat.

And Hiccup finally reached Toothless, and still looking into the dragon's eyes, placed the gentlest hand between the Night Fury's eyes, just above the snout. Looking up at him, Toothless groaned a greeting… something friendly… something which clearly recognized Hiccup for who he was.

His heart raced even more now that he realized he wasn't going to die from his best friend's blast.

Distally Hiccup heard Drago speak again. "How are you _doing_ that?" His words were laced with uneasiness and confusion.

But Hiccup was crying now. He could think only of Toothless. He stared straight into the dragon's soul and began to beg, barely even able to see through the tears whether or not the dragon's eyes were contracted. He could only hope. Only. Hope. "Please. You're my friend… my best friend… I won't leave you, I won't let you go."

The dragon pulled away. Hiccup's breath caught in his throat. However, Toothless move back simply to shake his head one last time. When he rose his neck up, it was with a wide-eyed, gummy, draconic smile and an excited, welcoming burble. This was it – this was him – this was Toothless!

"Atta boy!" Hiccup exclaimed, realizing his best friend was back for good. "That's it! I'm here!"

At once Drago became enraged. He threw down a bullhook, lashing out at Hiccup and nearly knocking him in the arm. Hiccup had to draw away immediately, wobbling back on the Scuttleclaw and nearly falling off the side of his mount. Enraged, Drago lashed out against Toothless, smacking the side of the Night Fury's head. He shouted out, "Enough!"

With a roar Toothless retaliated, teeth extending, jaw reaching up to clamp down on the bullhook. He yanked it from Drago's hand and crushed the handle right in two. Down from Toothless' jaws it dropped, hurtling down below him for hundreds of feet, and crashed harmlessly somewhere on Berk.

Yet Drago would not so easily be fought off. He tightened his grip on Toothless' saddle, yanking with all his might to control the dragon's neck, and pull him back into submission. Toothless turned around, flipping over, taking advantage of the fact Drago was leaning forward. The man fell with a scream from Toothless' back… and the dragon, now without a rider, began to plummet, too.

"Hang on!" Hiccup shouted. He planted his palms firmly on either side of the Scuttleclaw, bunched his legs, pulled himself to his feet, and then at once threw himself off his mount, plunging head-first in a dive after Toothless. Gravity overtook him, yanking him straight down, face-first. He could see little. The world was streaks of speeding flashes. Bewilderbeast tusks moved about him in the periphery of his vision, and he could see ice chunks too rush him by, but he kept his concentration on Toothless, the dragon plummeting below him, and on whom he was gaining. Reaching forward, Hiccup stretched for Toothless' saddle, attempting to get a grasp _anywhere._ His hands grabbed the pommel. He jerked himself forward and pulled his legs down. He felt a click. His prosthetic foot slid into place. He could hear a tail fin unfurl.

His vision shook, rattling, shaking. He could barely see anything in the insane velocity of their fall. But he could see the boards of broken wood below them, earth rapidly approaching. Desperately Hiccup pulled up on Toothless' saddle, and he and the dragon as one fought to change their path. They pulled away from gravity right before crushing into debris.

"Yeah!" he shouted. Toothless pumped his wings. The dragon circled around wreckage, climbing altitude as he rotated around Berk and back toward the Bewilderbeast.

Hiccup surveyed the Bewilderbeast from Toothless' back. Drago was standing on the right tusk of the alpha dragon. _He must have landed on the tusk when he fell, _Hiccup reasoned, and grimly surveyed circumstances. His friends were below, all grounded, and not anywhere near the Scuttleclaw infants they had ridden earlier. The Hooligans were sequestered in houses, or elsewise standing in the village green, frozen, helplessly watching the action. Drago would be mounting a counterattack before Hiccup could rally any of them together for their own defenses.

"We need to get those two apart," he reasoned, turning Toothless away from the Bewilderbeast's jaw. He could hear the warlord angrily shouting at his dragon, "Do something!" and it would only be a matter of time before the alpha did indeed resume attacks. It was moaning now, rearing its head, and rotating its neck to aim at Toothless.

Hiccup and his dragon swooped down. They weaved between buildings in Berk, staying out of target range. But he could hear the exploding rattle of a dragon launching fire, ice burgeoning behind them and shattered homesteads in a domino wave of destruction. Hiccup could feel ice shards bite against the back of his neck as he and Toothless fled the blast. In the brief, slightly quieter interim, he and Toothless glanced back to the see the enormous, cat-slit eyes of the angry Bewilderbeast alpha.

Toothless started yanking on the saddle, attempting to fight against the prosthetic's setting and their current direction of flight. "Toothless, what are you - ?!" Hiccup's voice cut off as he realized the dragons above them were cycling in a tornado. Something had excited them, and it had to be the Bewilderbeast. _It's trying to call back Toothless._ The dragon groaned, shaking his head, fighting himself and nearly throwing Hiccup from his back. "Toothless, Toothless no! Hang on, bud. You need to block him out." He desperately shoved his dragon's head back away from the Bewilderbeast, and led them in a direction back through the village where they could momentarily flee the giant beast. As soon as Toothless' eyes broke contact with the alpha, he quit struggling – at least for now.

Dragons waterfalled from the skies, raining down in deadly hail. They opened their jaws to blast fire. Villagers screamed at the bombings, throwing themselves behind the rubble of broken porches. Hiccup and Toothless spun desperately, avoiding Nadders and Nightmares, spines and poisonous blasts and projectiling clots of lava. In the midst of it all ice shattered in dramatic explosions and rained down clouds of spears.

"Take cover!" Hiccup tried to scream out to the villagers. "To the stables below!" He flashed past another explosion, this one caused by the Bewilderbeast launching out a jet of ice. Hiccup could only hope someone listened to his words above the constant rain of violence.

With a twist to the left Toothless doubled back, and Hiccup noticed at once a tattered rag streaming out from a half-broken building. He leaned out of his saddle and snatched it. _We're going to need this._

Toothless would yank on the saddle sometimes, still fighting, still groaning. Intentionally Hiccup flew behind the spires of Gothi's cliff, providing them momentary relief from the Bewilderbeast's attack. They would only be safe for a few seconds but it was all he needed.

Hiccup reached up to hold the red cloth before Toothless' eyes. "Do you trust me bud?" he enunciated, and when Toothless looked up to the blindfold and gave an agreeing burble, Hiccup leaned down to tie the cloth over the dragon's eyes. "We can do this." He nervously glanced to the left, noticing they were about in firing range again. "You and me. Together. As one." Briefly his hand reached out to touch the center of the dragon's forehead, giving a reassuring hold before directing his dragon straight toward the Bewilderbeast.

It was impossible to say if the Bewilderbeast were in control of the other dragons, but they certainly weren't in control of themselves. They swarmed the village, roiling madly, jaws snapping, squirming and wrestling between every building. Others still rushed about the skies, and in that midst, Hiccup noticed the form of a dragon rider standing still on top of a Scuttleclaw. The staff she held in her hands was unmistakable. _Valka._ Whatever his mother was doing, he hoped it was helping, and diverting the Bewilderbeast's abilities to control the other dragons. If anyone could break the spell between alpha and swarm, it would be her.

But he had his own task to complete. Hiccup hunched down, catching sight of Drago on the Bewilderbeast once more, and shouted out to Toothless, "Now let's try this one more time!" They shot straight for the alpha, again with the intent of separating warlord from beast.

Drago had climbed to the Bewilderbeast's forehead, and with his hand was pointing toward Hiccup. "Take control of it!" he screamed, gesturing, enraged, to Toothless. The Bewilderbeast placed all concentration on Hiccup, eyes flickering. Hiccup leaned in to Toothless, murmuring encouragement, and to his relief did not even feel the dragon's muscles stiffen beneath him. With the blindfold on and the tangible presence of Hiccup on his back, Toothless was not tempted to fall beneath the mind spell a second time.

The Bewilderbeast's effort to control Toothless, however, did have some unexpected results. Behind him, Hiccup could hear dragons roaring, shooting up to the skies again and away from Berk. _The Bewilderbeast is losing its grip on the other dragons,_ Hiccup realized, even as he and Toothless continued shooting straight for the alpha. The town still had a chance.

Hiccup leaned in, grabbing onto Toothless as the sounds of the Bewilderbeast's growls rose even louder, until he was lying flat on the back of his dragon. They were gaining speed again, accelerating to a velocity that was nearly as fast as when they had been free falling to the ground. They rushed forward so fast Hiccup was shaking, seizing, jaw clattering and clanking, arms rattling from turbulence.

Straight toward the line of Bewilderbeast fire they rushed. The alpha opened its maw to launch out an enormous blast of ice. Hiccup pulled Toothless up, arms straining on the horn of his saddle, stomach clenching as they fought against inertia. Ice shot right under them, barely missing Toothless' feet. They began to shoot over the alpha's head.

And Hiccup with a loud shout exclaimed, "NOW!" He pulled on the horn of his saddle, switching the gears on the tail fin, and leaned down to grab the hilt of his sword from his foot. They barely rose above the Bewilderbeast's forehead and began arcing in an upside-down pinwheel. The centripetal force clawed at them. Together they soared straight over the Bewilderbeast's head and back, turning upside-down in the skies. But at this moment Hiccup detached himself from the saddle and let himself drop.

With a snap he pulled out the wings of his flight suit. Hiccup's arms shook wildly as he became responsible for his own flight, but he kept himself steady as possible as he rushed toward the Bewilderbeast's back. At such high speeds, the atmosphere became rocky, juddering him and forcing him along air currents. Hiccup had to yank at his left wing to navigate himself in the direction he desired: right back toward the Bewilderbeast, and toward Drago in particular. He glided, shooting straight forward and somewhat downward, and prepared himself for his planned attack.

He pushed on the button of his sheathed sword to release Zippleback gas. It streamed behind him in a long, narrow green cloud. As Hiccup's head rattled in the rush forward, he could see the Bewilderbeast's long body down directly beneath him, and Drago standing not too far below. He'd barely make it over the dragon before crashing into one of its spines. Drago shouted as Hiccup flashed past and Zippleback gas cloaked him.

_Now._ Hiccup grunted and pushed the second mechanism on his sword hilt. The igniter. He shot over the last of the Bewilderbeast's back, soaring into open skies, but once he set off a spark from his sword hilt, all the gas behind him erupted into flame. Behind him an enormous reaction arose. The gas would be exploding behind him across the Bewilderbeast's back and near Drago as well. He heard the warlord scream in shock and pain behind him once the eruption hit; Hiccup could only hope he had knocked Drago off his feet, and forced the man to fall from the dragon.

Hiccup was soaring hundreds of feet above the ocean. He would need to slip back into Toothless' saddle soon. But then with dismay he realized the Bewilderbeast was turning around, and that its enormous tail was rising up. _I'm going to crash._ "Not again!" he groaned, and screeched up to Toothless, who was gliding below him, "Toothless, it's now or never!"

Straight to the tail he rushed. He glanced below him, nervously, and tried to pull his makeshift wings up to slow his speeding flight. The Night Fury shot beneath him, straining his wings. But he was closing the distance.

"Come on, bud!"

Toothless pulled beneath Hiccup, and he felt the saddle slide beneath his legs. He grabbed onto the saddle, slipped into the stirrups, and adjusted the tail fin. They arced above the Bewilderbeast's tail and shot vertically into the clouds. Quickly Hiccup glanced below him and realized Drago had indeed fallen from the Bewilderbeast's head, and was lying unmoving on the soil of Berk.

Hiccup let out a whoop of triumph. "We did it!" They had managed to separate warlord from alpha!

Toothless reversed his trajectory with a spin. They rushed straight to Drago and landed not fifteen feet away from him. Hiccup jumped out of the saddle as quickly as he could, not even bothering to adjust the setting on his peg leg. Hopefully, this would not cost them the battle. But Drago was pulling himself slowly to his feet now, having survived the fall from the alpha, and Hiccup could not waste a second retaliating.

Drago's hands fumbled for a spear – not his own bullhook, but likely some discarded weapon from a frightened-off Hooligan. His face contorted into an angry grimace as he stood. Hiccup pulled out his blade and set Inferno on fire.

"Don't even think about it," Hiccup threatened. "It's all over now."

A low, throaty laugh left Drago's lips. "Oh is it?" And he attacked.

Hiccup had not been expecting it. He dodged out of the way quickly before the spear could pierce his neck. Turning around rapidly, and switching Inferno to his left hand, Hiccup attempted a counterattack, swinging clumsily at Drago's torso. It missed Drago completely. Drago's spear lashed forward again. A block. Second offensive. Drago swept low toward Hiccup's peg leg, and the Hooligan stepped quickly back. He stumbled. It threw him off balance for his intended swing at Drago, another swipe before the face which did not even graze a hair.

Drago pushed forward, taking advantage of Hiccup's stumble. Hiccup felt himself fall backwards on his rear, and in desperation threw up Inferno to block the coming attack.

The fire from his sword lashed right out against Drago's hand. The spear caught fire, and Drago in a bellow of pain dropped the weapon. Hiccup rolled around, pulled himself upward, and pointed Inferno at the now-defenseless warlord.

"It is," Hiccup proclaimed gravely. "Stand down."

He only had half a second to glance up before the world became an explosion of ice. Something flashed before him – something black.

And then Hiccup was frozen – completely – cocooned in geometric blue – the entirety of his vision, shapes – warped diamonds, squares, ripples of line segments crisscrossing – all of it glass, and blurry, and pressed up against his eye – he could not blink – eyes searing despite the cold – or was it cold? – he could not _feel_ it, not really – could not feel the temperature – only the pressure – pressure building and building around him, pressing against all of him, every inch of him, his thighs and his legs and pressed up tightly against his cheeks – solid, everything, solid – and there was no movement, no anything – not a twitch of an eyelid – not a fingertip – he floated – floated in numbing pressure – and suspended in nothingness, alone with his mind – fright of entrapment built – built up and up – so that his body sought to gasp for breath – but there could be no breath – no breath at all – impossible pressure squeezing his nostrils tight shut – air pressure building at the bridge of his nose, his head – pressure inside and out – his lungs, similarly constricted – the growing sting of increasingly strained lungs – tightening, tightening, tightening – a diaphragm attempting to spasm, to seizure, from the pain of it all – the pressure, the demand for air – but frozen solid, even that failed – agitated lungs convulsing inside the trapped encasements of an unmoving body, unmoving sides – thoughts slowing – body collapsing in on itself – vision flaking, though burning eyes still cannot close – lungs seizing – everything burning – spasming – could not breathe – could not escape – fully helpless – blotches of blackness overcoming vision – blackness swarming – pain – sightless – fear – terror – pressure – agony – lungs – could not breathe – could not think – could not…

_Glowing blue._ Painful brightness. A banshee screech.

Everything… shattering.

The prison exploded.

Hiccup gasped. His eyes stared around, dazed, trying to take in what had happened. Drago's Bewilderbeast must have attacked and frozen him straight inside a block of ice. That's why he hadn't been able to move or breathe. Yet his foggy mind, still void of oxygen, grappled confusedly with one question: how was he still alive? How did he break free? What had shattered the ice?

Toothless was roaring above him, glowing bright blue from tail tip to nostrils. _Toothless must have been frozen with me… and broken through…_

The Night Fury was enraged. Pulsating blue, the color of his plasma blasts, he roared out a second time, and charged straight toward the Bewilderbeast. He opened his wings, hopped up, and landed on a spire of ice directly before the alpha.

"What…" Hiccup was still gasping for breath, and could barely keep up with what was happening. At once he realized his mother had rushed up to his side, and was looking at him concernedly. "He's challenging the alpha," Hiccup realized, panting. And Valka affirmed, "Because of you!"

Together they watched as the Night Fury attacked. Never before had Hiccup seen anything like it. The dragon seemed twice his size, standing angrily before the Bewilderbeast, even though the Night Fury himself still was little but a speck compared to the alpha. At once a shot snapped from his jaws; the plasma blast exploded straight in the Bewilderbeast's face. It roared, opening a mouth that could swallow houses. And Toothless shot again.

He leapt from ice spire to ice spire, dodging out from any counterattack the Bewilderbeast could muster. In angry roars the larger dragon attempted to keep up, but pulled its head back time and time again as Toothless rained more blasts. It closed its eyes, moaning…

…and then the rest of the dragons on Berk burst forth.

They had been hovering behind the Bewilderbeast, but not suddenly rushed forward. They tore toward Toothless in a sudden mass. "No!" Hiccup screamed.

But then his jaws dropped.

None of the dragons were attacking. They circled around Toothless, then turned toward the Bewilderbeast, ready to fight him too.

All the dragons had broken free of the alpha's control.

Toothless paused, and looked back at Hiccup. He understood and ran forward, swinging onto Toothless' back. Drago himself had raced toward the Bewilderbeast, screaming repeatedly, "No no no no no no no no!" and was attempting to take back control of the dragons. "Fight back! Fight!" He waved his arms wildly, but the alpha just jerked its mighty head, roaring painfully, knowing it was losing the battle. "FIGHT! What's the matter with you?"

Hiccup and Toothless stepped to the edge of the cliffs of Berk, staring straight at the warlord and his alpha. Behind him, the Hairy Hooligans were beginning to assemble, pulling themselves out from the broken buildings and forming lines of fighters behind him. The humans stood in solidarity, weapons in hand. Above the dragons hovered in their own resisting army.

Before them all stood Toothless and Hiccup.

"Now do you get it?" Hiccup shouted above the scuffle of amassing armies. He gestured to his gathering warriors. "This is what it is to earn a dragon's loyalty! Let this end – now!"

Drago let out a vicious roar.

On the seas rushed in ships, the humans of Drago's army finally attacking. But Berk's men were prepared. "To the catapults!" a shout from Spitelout. "Don't let them take an inch!" The roar of angry Hooligans rushing in to defend their homes from the high grounds overtook the land. Arrows, arrows shot forth from every corner, and ships began to burst in flame when hit by flying, flaming boulders. Swarms of armored men rushed up from the docks of Berk, but just as many women and men rushed down to meet them, axes and spears and swords and maces ready to push the invaders back. Bashed heads. Broken spines. Men pushed into the water. The Hooligans did not retreat an inch, but pressed ever forward, mowing down Drago's men as they tried to take the docks.

And then there were the dragons. The dragons, all the dragons, concentrated fire on the Bewilderbeast, an explosion of explosions raining forth. Unending torrents of burst broke in the defeated alpha's face, and it bellowed, pulling back in pain. Drago barely clung onto the Bewilderbeast's back spines, face opened in a wordless shriek of terror. When an enormous attack cracked the Bewilderbeast's left tusk in two, and it crashed to the ground with the boom of a hundred dragon blasts, all knew that the battle was won.

Still Drago attempted to fight back. He could not give in. Not when he had been so close. He forced the Bewilderbeast to continue confronting the swarm of dragons, but there was no way it could successfully fend them off. Dragons swept in, divebombing its back and attacking every scale. Other dragons swept in low to shoot at its exposed belly. Many others continued raining blows from the front, shooting past Hiccup and Toothless, who stood there unmoving, watching it all.

Hiccup could see the Hooligans below driving off the last of Drago's men. The armada was already in retreat.

Hiccup could see the dragons above him shooting at the Bewilderbeast.

Hiccup could see Drago futilely fumbling for some control.

And then Hiccup could see the change in Drago's eyes.

Drago grit his teeth, pulled back on the Bewilderbeast… and then the great alpha paused. It looked over the land, over the rubble, all the broken ice, the trampled homes, the fighting warriors… and then it retreated.

It sunk into the sea… and vanished.


	18. How to Fight a Sith Lord's Fury

**How to Fight a Sith Lord's Fury [Rating: K+ for violence and injury]**

His eyes were wide as he sneaked through Bespin, hand clutched tightly to his lightsaber. From one white hallway to another he skirted, always with a trajectory in mind, a goal. He could feel them with the Force. His friends… in trouble. In pain.

_No. No no no no. I came here to SAVE them. To stop them from feeling this. I can't be too late. I can't I can't I can't._

He peeked around a corner. Windows rose up on either side, wide glass panels opening up to reveal the sunset outside. Indoors, Imperial Storm Troopers marched, boots loudly clomping on the pristine floors. It was white against white. So much white. But the black blasters in their arms stood out clearly, and made Fishlegs inhale subconsciously, nervously.

Anxiety rattled his heart. He could feel it thudding so hard he wondered if the Stormtroopers could hear its poundings half a hallway away. This was dangerous. This was _beyond_ dangerous.

It wasn't normally like Fishlegs to be brave, to charge out to save the day. Camicazi and Hiccup usually had to pester him to even get him out the door to confront a simple Gronckle or Womp Rat, let alone face the Empire-crowded quarters of the Cloud City. However, currently he could make no choice _except_ to be here. Visions from the Force had plagued his mind while he trained with Yoda at Dagobah. While Yoda had been cryptic regarding the nature of the visions, he _had_ told his pupil they were images of the future. Fishlegs could not allow his friends to be tormented like this.

He had come to save them.

_I better not be too late._

At that moment Fishlegs noticed a bounty hunter dressed in Mandalorian armor stride forward. Hurriedly Fishlegs crouched down, hoping he remained completely out of sight. He watched as the bounty hunter led a small party down the hall, including two guards who flanked a floating encasement. It was a human-sized brick… no, _carbonate_… with a face protruding out of it like a half-carved sculpture. Fishlegs could not see the details at this distance, but he could sense who was encased inside.

His best friend, Hiccup.

Images flashed in his mind. The vision he had seen on Dagobah was coming true.

_No. _

Fishlegs' guts squirmed. It was horrible to see his friend like this. It was a horrible reversal of when they were back on Hoth; there, he had been entrapped in ice, frozen in a column by a dragonesque Monster. Hiccup had found him. They had stared eye-to-eye. And Hiccup had rescued him from the icy prison.

It was time for Fishlegs to repay the favor. He attached his lightsaber back onto his belt - no need to use it yet with Stormtroopers - and pulled out the blaster he had rested on his hip. His stomach roiled at the thought of attacking the guards, but he could think of no other way to rescue Hiccup. He peered around the corner of the hallway and prepared to shoot.

But even as Fishlegs began to creep forward, two Stormtroopers in the ensemble turned around, blasters at the ready. It was immediate open fire. Laser lights flashed, and Fishlegs hurriedly ducked aside. Without thinking, he began racing down the halls, as fast as he could to escape them. He could hear the explosion of the bounty hunter shooting, too, which made him panic all the worse. Fishlegs flew down the hallways faster than a speeder.

_For the love of the Force! You cowardly, queasy caniphant. You blubbering, buffoonish bantha fodder. You stupid, senseless Sarlacc snack. Some hero_ you_ are, running away like that!_

He almost crashed into another entourage of Stormtroopers, these guards parading several prisoners through the city. Camicazi. Her copilot Chewbacca. A third person whom Fishlegs did not recognize.

This time Fishlegs _did_ remember to fire when the Stormtroopers shot at him, even though he did - of course - dive for cover into an open door. He ducked around the corner, aimed his blaster wildly, tried not to squeeze shut his eyes, and shot again. A loud, resonating boom filled the halls, followed by the blasts of his enemies firing back. Above it all he heard Camicazi's voice, high as always, but with a bit of an uncharacteristically frantic edge to it. "Fishlegs! Fishlegs, no! It's a trap!" And she and the others were yanked away. The Stormtroopers flanked their prisoners rather than pursuing Fishlegs, probably recognizing that their attacker was too timid to fire another blast. In a moment, all fell… silent… leaving Fishlegs to stare, traumatized, unblinking, at a white wall before him.

_It's a trap._

The last thing he wanted to hear, especially since _Camicazi_ was someone who tended not to fright. This mission was dangerous enough without the Empire setting him up for a - for a - a - _trap_.

But he didn't have a choice. He was already here on Bespin, his friends were already in grave danger, and he was the only one who could possibly save them.

After taking a nervous gulp, he darted down the hallway to follow after Camicazi. He had to at least save _someone. _The corridor led straight to a door, which Fishlegs opened after only a bit of pause.

The room into which he stumbled was dark. Large, spacey, with only some bits of machinery here and there… an ominous room, with a deep reverberating rumble pulsating beneath his feet. He could feel the bass frequencies buzzing through his boots. He stared about in confusion, not spotting Camicazi, nor Hiccup, nor even a Stormtrooper helmet anywhere. He was, as far as he could see, completely alone.

_That can't be right._ He stepped through the room for a bit, noticing a circular shut door beneath his feet. Fishlegs walked around it, peering about the machinery in the room, attempting to detect what this room was, what was going on. His ears stretched out through the room to hear if there was some living soul here. As much as he could, he reached out with the Force as well, trying to sense the presence of his companions.

He touched someone, but it wasn't who he expected.

Lights embedded along an extended stairway turned on. Behind him, he heard the distinct sound of a cyborg breathing. That distinct sound of heavy, dark respiration he would recognize anywhere. Alvin, better known as Darth Treacherous.

"The Force is with you, young Skywalker," the mighty Sith lord intoned. He stepped out from the shadows, striding forward very slowly, feet clomping forward at a slow, steady pace. But even though Darth Treacherous lingered in shadows, standing atop a dais on which some foggy gray gas curled, Fishlegs could see his adversary's form. A man more machine than human, who had lost his limbs over the course of their encounters with one another. Once he had looked like a normal man, but now, his face had been covered in a mask, his limbs replaced by mechanical prosthetics, and even his torso had received heavy modification to keep him alive.

Darth Treacherous took a few steps forward. "But you are not a Jedi yet."

Every instinct inside Fishlegs screamed to turn away and run. But there was no way he could run from a Sith lord. He had to confront Darth Treacherous… and hope to survive. Legs shaking, he wobbled up the steps to stand on the same dais as Darth Treacherous, and they stood there, staring at one another, saying nothing. Fishlegs' hands fell to his sides, he grabbed the lightsaber at his belt, and turned it on. A blue blade blazed before him.

_I can't believe I'm doing this._

Very slowly, almost in leisure, Alvin the Treacherous ignited his own lightsaber. Red glowed before him. But he did not attack.

It was Fishlegs, wildly swinging, who commenced the first strike. His blade was turned aside, Treacherous swinging his weapon out and downward in a deflecting circle. Fishlegs tried again. Three strikes, one, two, three, all of them met with casual blocks. Again. This time, the taller man leaned in and shoved Fishlegs just forward enough that he stumbled backwards, tripped on a stair, and staggered down a few steps.

_There's no way I can beat him,_ Fishlegs thought at once. He cringed, waiting for Darth Treacherous to strike him while he was yet vulnerable. But that did not happen.

He stood on the step and carefully reformed his double-handed grip on his lightsaber. He stared up at Darth Treacherous' emotionless black mask, fearful, questioning. But instead of receiving answers, he only received an attack. Darth Treacherous took the offensive for the first time.

They launched into another round of lightsaber strikes. Though Darth Treacherous did not seem to be trying to kill him, he still contained the advance. Fishlegs was forced down the steps, and he found himself deflecting attacks at more and more the last minute. Rush up to the shoulder. Duck away, turn right. Swing at the side. Block. Sparks of blade hitting blade. Swing at the head. Duck again. Back up, stumble to the bottom of the stairs, pulling up a lightsaber blade, hope not to die. Clash, clash, clash.

Suddenly he found himself falling. The trap door in the floor had opened up! Frantically Fishlegs jumped, using the Force to shoot him to the ceiling. He barely launched up before the chamber into which he had fallen shut. He shuddered, realizing at once what had happened. He had almost been sealed in that chamber and frozen in carbonate, just like Hiccup had been.

_Like Hiccup_.

He could feel the blood boiling inside him. Anger, frustration, hate at Alvin. As much as Yoda had told him to put his feelings aside, sometimes Fishlegs felt himself go into a rage… go… _berserk_… without any explanation and even less control. At once he threw himself at Darth Treacherous. No more were his blows tentative. He struck out with all his force, again and again, using strength that belied his skinny frame. Powerful blow hit powerful blow. Darth Treacherous, in surprise, was the one to back up now.

"YOU! CAN'T! DEFEAT! ME!" howled out Fishlegs. He accompanied each word with a vicious strike, one at the head, another at the chest, a third at the shoulder, a fourth lower. "YOU! WON'T! DESTROY! ME!"

Blue against red.

Fishlegs strode forward, pushing against Darth Treacherous and driving him back. Darth Treacherous drove him back in turn. At once an army of objects shot forward to Fishlegs, propelled by the Sith's use of the Force. Fishlegs found himself swinging his lightsaber at hardware rather than his opponent. It was all he could do to keep up with the onslaught of attacks. He was forced backwards once again - and pinned up against a wall.

Darth Treacherous strode forward, lightsaber at the ready. He let all the other objects he had been throwing with the Force drop down to the ground. They reverberated in one ominous clatter. Then, Darth Treacherous spoke. "There is no escape," he intoned in his deep voice. "You have only begun to discover your power. Join me and the Empire. I will complete your training."

Fishlegs glared at the Sith lord but did not drop his weapon. "Liar," he said, aggression still fueling him. "Liar! You've never done _anything_ except try to gain power for yourself. I don't trust you. I'll never trust you. I'll NEVER join you!"

"The Dark Side and the Empire will win. If you don't join me, I will destroy you. You have something of mine I want back."

Fishlegs frowned. "I… don't own anything. Just this lightsaber. And this… necklace… from my mother." With his one free hand he started to feel at the necklace he always wore around his neck.

Darth Treacherous corrected him. "From your _father_."

Fishlegs stared. His eyes widened. "No," whispered Fishlegs, white to the lips. "It's not true… it can't be true… _you_ cannot be my father…"

"Search your feelings," the horrific black monstrosity responded. "You know it to be true."

And indeed Fishlegs could feel in his mind with the Force… it _was_ true. It _was_. For fifteen years he had searched for the man who was his father - fifteen years! - and it turned out to be none other than the most feared man in the galaxy.

He could not hold it in. With great agony he screamed out, "No! No! NO! I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL FOR ABANDONING MY MOTHER AND LEAVING HER TO DIE OF A BROKEN HEART!"

And even though he was pinned against the wall, at the disadvantage, he threw forth his lightsaber and attacked again. The fight began anew. Darth Treacherous, caught by surprise, stumbled backwards, allowing Fishlegs to squeak out from his tight position. Blade cracked against blade, above their heads, at their ankles, crashing into equipment around them as they overswung, attack attack attack, block block block, defense and offense, swing and thrust.

If Fishlegs had felt overwhelmed by emotions before, now he could think_ nothing_. He burst in shock and anger and trauma. He fueled it all into his fighting. He tore at his opponent best as he could, violently refusing and retaliating against the news. He could NOT accept that THIS MAN was his father!

It happened all at once. One moment he was screaming in anger. The next, he screamed in pain.

Fishlegs fell back, howling, clutching his arm, as his lightsaber dropped to his feet.

Clutching the _half of his arm that was left_.

He couldn't process it right away. One moment, he was fighting Darth Treacherous, reflexes blocking blow after blow. The next, he was lying on the ground, helpless, with his severed left hand bleeding at his feet. In the midst of all that pain, he sluggishly realized what had happened: his opponent had just _cut his arm in two_.

His FATHER had cut his arm in two.

"You fight a losing battle," said the cyborg above him, his deep breathing accelerated but still somehow intimidating. He stepped forward, and with his one good foot, kicked Fishlegs' lightsaber away from him. It clattered off somewhere in the darkness.

Fishlegs shuddered through the pain. He could barely hear what Darth Treacherous was saying, but in the back of the mind, he listened to the following words. "You can only come to your true power by turning to the Dark Side and learning what it is to be a Treacherous."

"No!" Fishlegs screamed. He did not know if he howled because of his hatred against Darth Treacherous, or because he was suffering so much physical agony. But somehow, in the midst of the fog of agony, he thought something lucid. Through clenched teeth Fishlegs hissed, "You are right. I am not a Treacherous. I disown you. I cast you out as my father. I _expel_ you."

He noticed an escape behind him, a window through which he could crash. He had not noticed it before because its light had been blocked with shades. It would be wild to jump through it, but at this point in time, better to free fall than to spend any more time with _this_ man. Staggering to his feet, Fishlegs gallantly proclaimed, "You've failed. I'll never turn to the Dark Side. I am Fishlegs No-Name, a Jedi."

And he hurled himself toward the window for escape.


	19. Cooking Time with Toothless

**Cooking Time with Toothless [Rating: K]**

"Dragon sitting."

It didn't sound frightening when she first agreed to it. Sounded quite simple, in fact. She would only need to keep an eye on Toothless for a few hours while Stoick chiefed the village and Hiccup exercised his limb with Gobber. And being as the Haddocks certainly needed some assistance after Hiccup lost his leg and the village's infrastructure turned upside-down with the addition of dragons, Astrid felt cheerily inclined to help.

At first.

Now, ushering Toothless inside her own home, she began feeling slightly uncertain with this arrangement.

Her parents were out, helping construct a new dragon stable enclosure, so there would be no back-up if anything went wrong. Her own dragon was asleep behind the house - that made some things simpler - but if the Nadder woke, Astrid would find an extra challenge awaiting her. And she was only _beginning_to have a handle on the Nadder. If she struggled somewhat to maintain order with her own personal dragon, what would happen now that someone else's dragon entered her house?

Would the two dragons even get along? She and Hiccup had only spent a little time flying together - after all, he needed to spend most of his time healing and readjusting to life without a limb. Astrid wasn't even certain that Toothless and Stormfly would cooperate in the same close quarters.

It was beginning to sound like a recipe for disaster.

Unfortunately, she could not back out now.

"C'mon, Toothless, in here," she said, holding the door open.

The curious dragon slunk up toward the entrance, narrowed green eyes peering into the interior. Toothless held himself on edge, somewhat crouched, as he approached the unfamiliar home. Of course, an enormous black dragon could not go unnoticed, yet he seemed to be cautiously, timidly sneaking up to the front entrance, as though to avoid eliciting some sort of trap or unwanted encounter with another animal.

"It's okay, Toothless," Astrid insisted, attempting to keep her voice light and calm. That would soothe a dragon, right? It seemed to make Stormfly feel at ease, anyway…

Toothless' right foot hovered over the threshhold. He stared at the floor boards with deep, studious intensity. Slowly, slowly, slowly, his foot began to lower. Claw hovered over wood grains. Sinking, sinking, almost touching… and then he jerked his foot back up high, nearly whacking himself in the face in the process.

"Toothless?" She was really trying hard not to let irritation enter her voice, now. She could not keep the door open forever!

He stood frozen at the entrance, foot still raised, eyes still scrutinizing the floor. Foot began to lower again, just as slowly as before. Slugs moved faster. Slowly, slowly, slowly lower. Jerk up. Lower. Jerk up.

"Oh, for crying out loud. The floor isn't lava."

With a bit of an indignant snort, Toothless finally set his foot down, taking his first step into the Hofferson household. At this point, he curled his neck to the left, investigated everything with a quick critical eye, panned his vision over all the way to the right, and then padded into the cottage completely. His tail swept through last, dashing into the side of the wall and nearly whacking over a shield hung up.

"Toothless! Careful!" Astrid jumped toward the shield, breathing a sigh of relief when it only rattled and did not fall.

The dragon suddenly seemed much more at ease. Now, off on a grand adventure, he began prowling through every cranny of the house, in some areas more gently than others. Sometimes he tiptoed on all four limbs, carefully investigating a furry floor rug; other times he _leapt_ up into the rafters, bounding around and shaking the very roof and foundation of the house. Astrid could only grit her teeth and clench her hands before her, hoping that the dragon would not cause great damage.

At last, though, he settled, curled up into an enormous mound, and rested his head on his tail. He kept his eyes open, though, staring at Astrid like some enormous cat lying on _every_ piece of furniture simultaneously.

She, in turn, crossed her arms, feeling confident, and announced, "Alright. Great! Looks like this'll be a piece of cake after all."

Then she paused.

"Cake."

A plot was already cooking in her mind. Actually cooking.

She would bake a cake.

"You know what Hiccup needs?" she said, both to herself and the dragon visitor curled in the center of her floor. "A good cake. He's been going through a lot… a cake should cheer him up, right!" She could feel herself blushing, thinking of the last kiss they had shared a week and a half ago, when he had first stepped out of his house. But at the same time… she was _elated_… and she found herself rushing to the pantry at an incredibly brisk pace.

And then the entire house shook with a heavy, resonant _CRASH._

_Great. What in Thor's name… _

Worried about what she would find, she turned around.

Toothless was still lying down, but he had… changed positions. Rather than curling up in a circle, he had opted to stretch out, sprawling across the entire floor, splaying every limb in every direction - including his wings. The wings had knocked over multiple items in the house at once… including the entire dining room table.

"TOOTHLESS!"

The dragon yanked himself instantly to his feet, ear plates straightening like rods. In the process of his scuffle up, he pulled the bear fur carpet up and bunched it into an enormous, mountainous wad.

"…great. Looks like I'll be cleaning up after you, won't I?" she grumbled, trying not to let her irritation boil. "Look, you've got to be careful in my house, okay? Maybe… maybe if you stay near me while I'm cooking, nothing else will get knocked over?"

The dragon seemed to understand her and burbled in piqued agreement.

Breathing out and holding out her hands, she emphasized, "Stay. Put. Here. No moving." When the dragon did appear to remain seated, she exhaled one more time, murmured, "Good," and resumed her journey to the pantry.

"Alright. Now what type of cake should I bake?"

She heard soft padding behind her, glanced behind, and noticed that Toothless had followed her. He probed his nose around, eyes gleaming at the meat.

"No, no, don't eat that."

With warrior's speed, she lunged forward and snatched a herring away from Toothless before he could consume it. His nose pivoted toward her, and he stared, green eyes incredibly wide and innocent, toward the fish.

Astrid studied the fish herself. Slowly, her eyebrows raised up toward her headband, and a small smile raised her cheeks.

"You know what? Good idea. Fish cake! That way, both you _and_ Hiccup can eat it. How'd you like that, Toothless?"

He crooned in eagerness. He tried to lick the fish in his eagerness, though Astrid managed to dodge that, too.

"Alright. Fish cake it is," she agreed. "Let's get the other ingredients… flour… some eggs… sugar…" Her hands filled with the essentials. Upon collecting the ingredients, human and dragon shuffled back into the main room, where an unlit fireplace awaited them.

"Uhhh… Hiccup's trained you to light things, right? Not like… the whole house…" Astrid's face cringed in worry at the thought "…just like, where I point? Maybe? Shall we try this?"

_I should probably teach Stormfly to fire on command, too, come to think of it_.

Astrid pointed at the unlit fireplace. "Okay, uhhh… Toothless. Do your thing."

He looked at her finger, cocked his head to one side, looked toward the fish, wiggled on his haunches, and licked his lips.

Sighing, Astrid gestured back toward the fireplace. "No, no, no. Light it! Uhh… fire! Shoot fire! Blast! Uhhh… oh wait… that was it… plasma blast?"

The house erupted in blue and rocked in a three-second earthquake. Astrid flew down, somersaulting to the floor, warrior instincts at the ready. She glanced up toward the flames, cringed… then stood.

_Oh._ "Hey, look, you did it." She smiled, laughing. _Still not used to living with dragons, apparently,_ she thought. "Of course you did it."

"Next… we need to make some batter… oh no oh no oh no TOOTHLESS NO!"

* * *

Though Hiccup had lost his leg less than two weeks ago, and had been practicing walking on his own, Astrid appeared the worse for wear when they met up later in this afternoon. When Hiccup hobbled to Astrid's house, still relying a bit on Gobber's guidance, he seemed to be rather exhausted, a little droopy from the effort of his exercises. She noticed him through the window, bit at her fingers, stared at the disaster around her, and groaned, "Oh Thor. Here we go." She wanted to pretend all had gone well… she didn't want to disappoint Hiccup with her dragon sitting…

Astrid cracked open the door before Hiccup could knock. "Uhhh… hello there! Hello there, Hiccup!"

His face curled up into a bit of an awkward smile upon immediately seeing her. His green eyes might have stared a little too long at her before he asked, "Ah ah hi. So, how's Toothless? It felt a little weird not having him around, but…"

"No, no. I understand. He was getting in the way." Gobber had told Hiccup that, as nice as it was to have a dragon helping him hobble around the house, he needed to learn how to walk on his own. Today had been the first experiment with that.

"So. How was he?" Hiccup asked.

"Well…" Astrid coughed, partially from embarrassment, partially from the smoke still clogging the entire house. Slipping out of the cottage carefully, managing to keep the door shut the entire time, she pulled out her cake. Somehow, it had not _completely _blackened during the incident. She flashed up a smile. "He helped make this." She reached up and gave a friendly, somewhat nervous punch. "C'mon. Take a bite."

"O-o-okay, what is-?" Hiccup took a bite. Astrid cringed, waiting for him to buckle over, gagging. Toothless had knocked over half the ingredients into the bowl, had heated the fire up way too much, and essentially jeopardized the entire recipe. She did not think she had cooked a single step the way she had planned, meaning the food could only be a disaster.

Hiccup paused.

"You know… that's actually… one of the best things you've cooked…"

Her eyes widened. She glanced back toward the closed door, which hid the flour and eggs splayed at the ceiling, the batter splashed on the floor, the blackened, smoky residue hanging over the ceiling bars.

"Wait? What? R-r-really?"

"Yeah. Why… are you surprised?"

Astrid was not going to admit that Toothless' mistakes somehow improved the recipe. Thankfully, also, she didn't have to.

For the door burst open.

One second, she was standing at the entrance.

The next, she was flying across the porch toward the ground.

And out from behind, an incredibly excited, fish-fed dragon roared and rushed up to Hiccup.

"Dragon sitting."

Yeah.

Definitely more than she had bargained for.

But at least, seeing Hiccup so happy with her own dragon, seeing him smile up at both her and him…

…she felt some warm feelings inside.


	20. Smithing Time with Stormfly

**Smithing Time with Stormfly [Rating: K]**

"Are you sure it's not a problem?"

"No, no, Astrid, not at all."

Astrid gave Hiccup a grateful grin, telling him, "Well, I really appreciate it."

She then turned to Stormfly. As Astrid reached up to embrace the dragon's neck, the Deadly Nadder leaned down and turned her head to the side, nuzzling up against her rider's hair. Astrid, closing her eyes and stroking the dragon's scales, murmured, "Aww. It's only for a few hours, girl. I'll be back."

"Good luck with the training exercise!" Hiccup said, waving. Astrid waved in turn, then trotted lightly down the slope away from the Haddock house. When she reached the bottom of the hill, she took a swift left, then disappeared behind another cottage. She would be heading far into the forest to practice her axe work with some of the tribe's master warriors.

Now that Astrid had disappeared from sight, Hiccup turned his attention to the two dragons behind him. Toothless had turned around and was itching an area of his body Hiccup did not need to see the direct view of, while Stormfly was waddling toward a precariously stacked pile of wood. "Ah ah, no, let's – let's not do that." Hiccup did not suspect that Stormfly would intentionally knock over the firewood stack, yet after all the incidences of Toothless' careless tail whacking household items, the last thing he needed to do was witness another dragon-caused accident. Berk had already experienced three fires in the last week; the Vikings needed to do _something_ about their new firebreathing friends' unintentional arsons. Hiccup did not plan to have dragons contribute to the damage on _his_ watch.

Thankfully, as soon as Hiccup spoke to Stormfly, she turned toward him. The dragon had always been a keen and willing listener. She stepped lightly away from the wood stack and headed toward Hiccup.

"Great," he said, clasping his hands together. He finally made eye contact with Toothless, who had finished scratching his hip, and addressed the two dragons together, as though they could understand his language. "Soooo, shall we head to the shop? Gobber needs me to… get things done… that…" and he deflated a little at the thought "…that I should have probably done last week." He waved his arms about, shrugged, and sighed. Today would be a busy day at the forge.

He led the dragons down the paths of the village – a bit of work since some of the fishers were hauling their catches up to the Great Hall – and after ushering Toothless and Stormfly repeatedly away from the perch and halibut, they finally reached the smithy. Toothless, more than familiar with what would occur next, curled up in a crescent shape right outside and began to nap. Stormfly, however, followed Hiccup inside.

"This – this isn't exactly a dragon-friendly area," Hiccup said, a bit surprised at the enormous Nadder visitor. He sized up the dragon, who was crouching, with her wings held close to the body, just inside the shop. Though she was stooped over, her body language looked a little too perky to be among the battle axes and bolas. "Sure you want to come in here, girl?"

The dragon gave an enthusiastic squawk and shuffled further forward.

At this point in time, Stormfly was completely in the building. Since she took up the majority of the entrance, she would have no room to turn around. Unless Hiccup could manage to shove a several-thousand-pound dragon backwards, Stormfly would be here to stay.

"Great. Greeeeeat. Love the company." Hiccup felt a bit uncertain with the concept of handling sharp weapons around a dragon in a small space, but… well… what could he do now? At least Stormfly never got into trouble with Astrid; the dragon, a bit less mischievous and more obedient than Hookfang and Toothless, would be relatively easy to handle. If any dragon were to enter the shop and not make a mess, it would be her.

Hiccup turned around to grab his apron. The second his vision left Stormfly, he heard a crash.

"What the –"

Stormfly was leaning in to preen a wing. In the process of pulling her wing up slightly, she had knocked an entire shelf of knives to the floor.

So much for trusting Stormfly wouldn't make a mess.

He gestured toward the fallen blades with an open palm. "Hey look, bud," Hiccup grumbled, glancing at the napping dragon through the large shop window. "You've got a kindred spirit. Another obnoxious destructive reptile."

Picking up on the sarcasm in Hiccup's words, Stormfly immediately stopped preening, and gave him one plaintive, sweet, rather innocent squawk. From the other side of the wall, Hiccup could hear the Night Fury grumble something less innocent and more exasperated. It was a bit half-hearted, though, suggesting Toothless was fading into slumber.

"Sorry there, girl," Hiccup said, reaching up. "I know you're being friendly. Just… be careful, okay? Don't knock anything else over."

Stormfly returned his request with an agreeable snort. The dragon's wings were tucked back, safely, to her sides.

Hiccup could now finally finish fastening his apron. Reaching behind his back, he tightened the knots, and then wandered over toward a pile of well-worn weapons. Here, in a wooden box barely held together by rusty nails, Gobber had stacked a number of axes, swords, and daggers which needed upkeep. Some of them appeared ready to fall apart, while others only required a little sharpening.

Deciding to get a few things done quickly, Hiccup leaned down to grab the least-damaged objects. Though the day would be long and hard at the forge, he would feel better once he had completed a few easy items off the checklist. Hiccup grasped a dagger in each hand and headed over to the grinding wheel. Once the wheel began to rotate rapidly, he put a dagger up to the wheel to sharpen it.

He threw himself backward with a yelp a second later. Spines whizzed past, shooting through the room like arrows, and with three heavy thunks embedded themselves into the far side of the wall.

Hiccup turned to Stormfly. The dragon stared at him with a shocked expression and narrowed pupils, clearly frightened by the noise of the dagger squealing against the grinding wheel. Now all he could hear was the Nadder's heavy breathing.

"Shhh, shhh, shhh, it's okay, girl." Hiccup held his hands forward, palms downward, and tried to gesture to the dragon to relax. "It's okay. Nothing's going to hurt you."

The dragon's head spines slowly lowered and her spiky tail lay flat again. She cocked her head to one side, quizzically staring at the grinding wheel.

"See? It's just a tool. It can't hurt you."

The dragon almost appeared embarrassed now.

"Don't feel bad. Gobber's going to love your artistic addition to the wall. It fits in well with the posh modern Viking aesthetic of sword, sword, sword, sword, and more sharp things. Personally I think we could vary it up some, but, you know. Berk's never been one to boast many Fine Arts Vikings."

With that largely sarcastic ramble done, he returned to the problem at hand. Regardless of Stormfly's not-quite-so-helpful presence, he _needed_ to finish some work tasks.

He stared closely at the Nadder, gauged whether or not she would startle again, and then raised up the dagger to sharpen. This time, when the blade hit the grinding wheel, Stormfly did not move. Now that she expected the noise, it did not frighten her. Stormfly stared very intently at Hiccup the entire time, but thankfully did not appear ready to launch any more spines.

"That's it. Great. Looks like I can get some work done after all." The blade sharpened nicely, Hiccup set it aside, and then he finished the other he had brought down. He returned to the old wooden box two more times, fixing up a pair of axes, before he examined a beaten-up sword.

Hiccup sighed as he evaluated the poor state of the blade. The large chip in its side and the shakiness of the hilt meant Hiccup would need to do far more than press it to the side of the grinding wheel. He would need to light up the forge.

Toothless had begun snoring outside, so Hiccup did not feel inclined to nudge the Night Fury awake. Instead, glancing at the pleasantly-waiting Stormfly, Hiccup decided he could call upon her help instead.

"Stormfly," he said, starting a command. He pointed to the forge, where he needed some coals lit. "Fire."

The Deadly Nadder, with great glee to finally be helping, let out an enormous blast.

Half the village came rushing to the shop a moment later.

"Water! Water! We need water!" "Quick! Douse the flames!" "Over here!" "Where's that water?!"

Hiccup stumbled out through the smoke, coughing, only to inhale half a bucket of water splashing over him. His hacking worsened. "Get - kkfff kff - the - kff! - fire, not the - kfff! - Viking!" he finally protested, staggering out of the building behind Stormfly. Great boiling clouds of black puffed out after both of them.

"Hiccup!" Astrid exclaimed as she rushed up to him. Apparently she had finished her training in time to see smoke coiling up from the center of the village. "What happened?"

"Note to self," Hiccup mumbled, "Deadly Nadder fire is a little _too_ hot to use in the forge."

From behind him, he could hear Toothless burble in what was basically his Night Fury laugh.

Looked like the dragons had managed_ another_ arson this week.


	21. Defenders of Dragons

**Defenders of Dragons [Rating: K]**

Wings swept silently over a sea of cloud. Churning gray vapors dashed up like waves as a shadow shot past. Silently, a dragon skimmed over the surface of the thunderheads, gliding along a luminescent path lit by a near-full copper moon.

The lunar light revealed, up ahead, a break in the clouds. The dragon launched forward and surfaced. At once, the colloidal haze of thunderheads vanished, exposing a broad stretch of rocky islands below. Most were minuscule, blackened lumps, mere dots in a dark landscape, but one enormous mound rose up from the waters. A tall and intimidating volcano launched toward the sky. Its presence dominated the island it would have, at one point in its geological history, created from its magmas. Given the steepness of the volcano's sides, perhaps it still would yet contribute to the island's growth… though hopefully no eruption would occur soon.

For the dragon drifted down toward the island.

It had spotted something.

A ship.

And even from that distance, gliding amongst the clouds, the dragon and its rider could identify that vessel.

Not many ships carried metal cages on its deck.

Stormcutter drifted down, carefully, carefully, carefully, lowering altitude while maintaining a cautiously wide distance from the ship. The human on its back crouched, knees bent, alert, with both hands gripped on a thick wooden staff. A mask covered the rider's face, but body language betrayed her tense emotions.

Island rapidly grew. As the dragon descended, the shadows of individual trees could be picked out against the moonlight, as well as the shapes of huts clustering alongside the southeastern coast of the isle. No human activity could be spotted. Of course, at this time of night, no human activity would be expected.

The dragon rider thus carried with her the advantage of surprise.

Water splashed over them. Her Stormcutter now flashed past the island coast over ocean waves, rushing along the water surface toward their target. There it was, shadow against the moon. The dragon hunters' ship.

And as they shot past, she threw herself off the Stormcutter.

Soared through the air.

Landed on the deck with a soft, firm _thump_.

She paused. Glanced around, intently monitoring the deck, peeping between the shadows of crates and searching for any guards who stood on board.

No one.

Complete silence.

She could barely even hear the soft rustle of four dragon wings disappearing in the distance. The dragon would be back for her, but would first circle around, far from the vessel and safe from hunters, while she infiltrated its lower decks.

Every dragon hunter ship had the same design. She thus knew immediately how to navigate its belly, creeping quickly below deck and slipping through narrow, blackened halls. The vague, conical shapes of torches remained untouched along the walls; she would not light a fire, for her vision had become accustomed to the night, and darkness would allow her greater stealth. Her ears strained in the near-silent dark as she stole toward a room of cages.

Cramped corridors opened up into a large room. A broad hallway allowed her access to six enormous dragon cages, three along each side, all crisscrossed with flattened metal sheets. Boulder-like shadows revealed the prison's occupants: speed stingers, she assumed, from their size.

And then there were footsteps.

She pulled herself back but maintained an eye on the chamber. From the opposite side of the hall, a door opened, and a woman in a sleek black military uniform strode through. Little could be seen of her in the dark beyond the pale blonde tone of her hair and the faint glimmer of a saber at her hip. With a determined sense of purpose, she approached one of the dragon cages.

This woman – one of the dragon hunters, for sure – would need to be stopped.

The dragon rider rushed forward. Staff swung in an arc through the air.

The hunter noticed the attack, jerked backward in quick self-defense, and quickly brandished her sword.

Dragon rider and dragon hunter stood together in the ship's black belly, staring at one another, weapons at the ready.

"Leave these dragons be," the rider murmured. Crouched, she slowly circled around her foe, attempting to near the locks on one of the cages. If she could break it and free one of the dragons, the fight would be over, and she the victor.

The other would not allow it, carefully circling in the opposite direction, sharp blade poised for action. "That I cannot do." Her voice was crisp, precise, bold. The voice of a woman of authority. "Back down. You cannot win this fight, and I will kill you, if need be."

The words of the rider were simple. "No." She attacked again, staff whirling like a Nadder's tail. Sword rose up for a block, embedding partially into the wood, before it disengaged and swept forth in a counterattack. They danced. Dodged. Staff rushed near the feet. Sword swung through air.

The dragon rider crawled, almost on fours, backwards. She did not fear a fight, yet the sharpness of the other's blade would make direct engagement difficult. Her attacks would come from another, powerful source.

Staff thumped against the floor. The discs embedded in its frame began to rattle. The chains of the dragon cages began to rattle, too.

The beasts were awakening and listening to her call.

The swordswoman paused. "You agitate the dragons?" Offense dripped through her intonation.

"The cages agitate them," the dragon rider corrected.

Another attack. Another swing of the sword. Another duck and hasty retreat. The rider slammed her staff onto the floor a second time, setting it rattling, and bringing with it more energy from the dragons.

The women circled one another again. Speed stingers squirmed, writhing against the bars of the cages. Teeth gnawed on the metal frames. A few claws began to scrape against the door frames, almost as though to attempt unlocking the cages with their claws in the keyhole.

Staff swing. Block with the hilt of the sword. Fist rush out. Duck. Sweeping kick. Swordswoman thrown back, staggering, momentarily off-balance. Another attack, a block, a dodge, a swing toward the leg, a jump, a pause.

"Who… _are_ you?"

The question came from the warrior wielding her saber. The swordswoman stared at the bizarre form of the figure she fought. Likely, she had never seen anything like it, for the dragon rider's garb looked more like the skin of a dragon than armor.

"I am the voice of the dragons," the rider responded.

"You do not come to harm them?" Her opponent appeared… startled… uneasy. Her sword arm lowered.

"No, I don't."

The dragon rider dropped to all fours, crawled toward the nearest cage, and reached out a palm toward the cage. The nearest speed stinger reached out its snout, and, best it could, pressed its nose to her hand.

"I come to free them," the dragon rider murmured.

From her right side, she could hear the ringing rasp of metal as her opponent sheathed her sword. "I am a defender of the wings. There is nothing greater and more magnificent than a dragon. If you are a friend of the dragons, then I am no enemy of yours.

"I am Queen Mala, and I, too, have come here to free these dragons."

She produced from her hand a key – likely stolen from guards elsewhere on the ship – and inserted it into the nearest cage's lock. Her hand turned, the lock clicked, and the door swung open with a creak.

The two women made eye contact, mask staring at the green eyes of the island queen. Understanding rushed between the two: a mutual love, respect, admiration for these creatures. Both warriors held within their hearts the same rare, fervent passion for dragons.

And then they heard muffled shouts from the deck.

"They hear us," said Mala, staring upward. "It appears our presence has not gone unnoticed."

Again the two women pulled up their weapons, saber and staff. But this time, they would be fighting together.


	22. Coming Home

**Coming Home [Rating: K]**

He had warned her there would not be much to see, but only now did Astrid understand.

Skullcrusher and Stormfly streaked past high-reaching glaciers and even higher-raised mountain peaks. A black ocean frothed angrily beneath towers of ice. Astrid could see no trees, no shrubs, no animals, no sign of life, and no evidence of human civilization.

And yet Eret mumbled, morosely, "Here we are."

How could this be Eret's homeland if Astrid only spied wilderness? A discomfiting suspicion clawed inside her stomach.

Despite her suspicions, she still asked, "What? Are you sure? Where is everybody?"

Eret rotated his neck and gave Astrid a long, solemn stare. Something dark clouded his dark brown irises. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed, reluctant to speak.

"Follow me," he said at last.

The dragons descended. Skullcrusher navigated the way, plunging down at a sharp angle to whip over ice blocks. Eret then careened left, hugging near the ocean coast, as dragon and rider lowered their elevation and approached desolate land. Stormfly followed with quick flaps. Her feet brushed the water before she alighted on rocky ground.

Eret hopped off his dragon. A loud crunch accompanied his landing. He tread over a small patch of ice, wandered about the naked rocks, and knelt down on one knee to examine the landscape. Astrid, silently, watched.

"Here we are," he murmured. He picked something up in his hand among the stones.

Astrid neared him. Her heart dropped and she reached out her hand in sympathy. She laid it on his shoulder as she studied the fishing hook in his palm.

She understood.

And now that she knew, she could spot the signs herself. A long beam of wood, too smooth and straight to be a naturally formed log, lay broken in two next to a rotting animal skin. Several timbers, like ribs, sticking out on the coast near the sea. Evidence of fire-burnt homes further inland. Even, once she paced the seashore more, an intricately carved knife, abandoned to the elements. She picked it up and studied the design on its handle.

"Gods," she breathed. "I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have asked to come if I'd kno-"

"It's okay." Eret cut her off. Despite his words, his voice sunk heavily. "In some respects, it's good you've seen this."

He picked himself up, brushed off his knees, and strode away from Astrid. She followed behind him. They came to the coast. Together, they stared out at the rugged landscape, at the ocean and icecaps and mountains and rolling ridges of unrelenting stone.

"My people were fishers. Dragon hunters, too, some of us. Lived near the ocean in a world where the elements could eat you alive in the blink of an eye – probably why you don't see much evidence of us now. But we were happy. Until Drago came."

His boots scuffed the ground. For a moment, Eret lapsed into silence, pondering unwelcome ancient memories.

"The dragon hunters live. They're scattered across the seas, now, capturing dragons for Drago's army. As for the rest…"

His eyes scanned over swaths of rock. Elements had quickly consumed most evidence of human civilization, but from the expression on Eret's face, Astrid suspected he could still imagine what this location looked like populated.

"Many died. The ones who didn't surrender or tried to run were slaughtered. The ones who gave up became a part of his army."

Astrid searched for words of comfort. Her tongue remained sealed to the roof of her mouth.

"Now you see why I didn't want to go back. I _make_ myself come back, though, sometimes, to remind myself what happened. In a way…" he looked over at Astrid, and forced his cheeks up in the poor semblance of a smile "…it feels better to come here with someone, rather than sailing up alone again."

"We won't leave you alone," she said. "Not me. Not Hiccup. Not anyone. Berk is happy to have you and give you a home."

Maybe those words would not comfort him. But they were the best she had to say.

And Eret nodded.

"I am grateful for everyone on Berk. Just…"

He opened his fist. Astrid realized he still held the fishing hook.

"…it will never replace this."

Lonely wind moaning above mountaintops.

"It's good for you to see this so that you remember what's at stake. Hiccup drove Drago away, but Drago will be back. And when he does come back…" Eret closed his fingers and clenched them in a fist "…we can't let something like this happen again."


	23. Astrid Confronts Drago

**Astrid Confronts Drago [Rating: K]**

Now was her chance.

She didn't hesitate - not for a second. Stormfly plunged from the skies, shot through roiling smoke head first, and hurtled toward a figure standing near the shoreline. Even from so far above, _that man_ could not be mistaken.

It was time to end this battle. Decisively.

End this war, even, if she were lucky.

Arrows arced over her. Stormfly's spines retaliated. Zippleback gas exploded. Catapults launched boulders. Smoke rose up. Dragons collided. Men screamed. Men charged. Men fled. Men died.

And through it all - through the chaos of battle - Astrid maintained her eye on the prize.

Drago.

Stormfly swooped to the ground. Even before the Nadder landed her feet on the earth, Astrid was flying out of her saddle, axe in hand. She would offer no mercy. Would offer no bargain. They had tried to speak before - and that had failed.

Today, they were engaged in the battlefield, and the purpose of battle was violence.

So Astrid charged.

A scream roared through her throat and ripped from her lips. Her arms lifted up in a powerful swing, axe rising over her shoulder. Boots pounded over uneven earth toward a hulking human monster.

Drago's head rotated. Almost but not quite caught off-guard, he managed to raise up his bullhook and block her axe's sharp swing before it sliced his chest. Axe handle met bullhook handle. Both warriors strained, fighting to shove the other off-balance.

Astrid stepped back first.

Swung around.

Attacked again.

Clash.

Another block, another draw, another quick step back.

Astrid circled around Drago while he stood stationary, chuckling with a grin half-amused, half-menacing.

"Back again?" he snarled. "What does it take for you to learn a lesson?"

In a dramatic acrobatic tumble, Astrid launched herself at Drago. This time, he did sidestep, slipping out before her axe could land a hit.

"I did learn a lesson," she huffed. "I learned what a monster you are. Enslaving dragons? Using them to capture and kill people? What kind of screwed up-"

She never finished her words. For the first time in the engagement, Drago launched an offensive attack. Bullhook swung over her head. Crack. Crack. Crack. Three strikes. Three blocks in a row.

Astrid's heart thudded against her ribcage. Her breaths convulsed rapidly, puffing out into the frigid air. But she did not feel cold. She felt heat: the heat of battle... and a furnace of fiery anger.

"You're never going to win," she continued venting between gasps. She would not tire. She would not. This was her chance. This was it. After one more comment, she was going to _end _him. Hissing at Drago, keeping her feet light in case he lunged at her again, she snapped, "Berk has the best dragon riders in the archipelago, maybe even the world. You control with fear, but we - we have something greater. We will come out stronger."

Drago laughed.

"No dragon can resist the alpha's command," he declared. One boot stomped forward with an ominous thud. "So the man who controls the alpha controls them all." Next boot stomped forward with just as much pounding weight. Drago raised the bullhook to the sky, slowly, slowly. "Witness true strength - strength over will."

And he began to scream.

The bellow overtook the battlefield. Astrid, so astonished at the action, only stared as he began to whirl his weapon over his head.

A mountain ascended behind him: the enormous Bewilderbeast beneath his command.

Drago lowered his hook and pointed it, wordlessly, right at Astrid's dragon.

Stormfly began to convulse beneath the dragon's stare.

"Stormfly?" Alarm shot through Astrid's voice. Forgetting her blood rage against Drago, she glanced behind her, staring in great concern at her seizing dragon. "Stormfly, what -?"

The dragon stilled… opened her eyes… and began to advance as though stalking prey.

"Stormfly?" Greater puzzlement - greater fear - echoed in Astrid's voice.

And then the anger returned, rushing into her thoughts in a forceful wave. She screeched again, yanked up her axe, and with a wordless howl _charged_ Drago.

Astrid tumbled to the ground a second later as snow exploded beneath her feet. She never reached Drago.

Had Stormfly just… _shot_… at her?

Astrid stared in horror.

The dragon continued to advance.

"Oh my gods… oh my gods, what did you _do_?" she breathed. The dragon's pupils had narrowed to slits… she was coming closer… and her mouth was opened wide, preparing for a second blast.

"Your dragon won't miss a second time," she heard.

Astrid could not pull herself up in time. Would not be able to flee and save herself even if she did manage to stumble to her feet.

Stormfly's jaw opened.

And then she heard one other voice.

"ASTRID!"

A shadow lunged before her - nothing more than a skinny streak - the second the world turned white and exploded in a sonic boom.


	24. Outflanked

**Outflanked [Rating: K]**

She glanced behind her, ascertaining that no dragon had fallen behind. Though she flew through a colloidal, gray-cloaked fog, she could catch sight of a full dozen winged shapes flapping silently together. _Good._

All had come.

All would make it.

All would land in a safe haven, a new home, where they would no more be plagued by traps and trappers.

Valka did not need to direct her own dragon. Cloudjumper shifted automatically, adjusting his course and angling downward to an enormous mountain of ice. Dark turquoise jagged crystals erupted from a central point.

Yet before she could guide the mass of freed dragons into her mountain, they all began to stir. She heard it first in a disquieted roar, which grew into a grumble, which grew into frenzied flappings and a host of agitated snarls. _What were they…_

She had _saved_ them. Saved them from cages a few islands back. _What were they…_

Valka stood on top of Cloudjumper and stared straight at the flock. None of the dragons paid any heed to her, but all stared downward, downward, downward, toward an abyss of fog. Below her, though she could not see it, would be the crashing waves of the sea.

Cloudjumper seemed discomfited, too. She could feel the Stormcutter's wing beats slow as the dragon carefully tread through cloud.

Something was down below them in the water.

Something startling the dragons.

Unspoken communication. Symbiotic understanding. Descent downward. Valka and Cloudjumper slowly slipped down, delving deep within the low-setting fog to investigate what lay beneath it.

"No," she whispered when she finally caught sight of the harbor.

"No."

She had not fooled him when she freed the trapped dragons. She had not brought the dragons to rescue.

Her exodus had not gone unnoticed.

Instead, she had led Viggo Grimborn and seven of his ships straight to her dragon sanctuary.


	25. Reflections

**Reflections [Rating: K]**

_Takes place a good several years after the events of How to Fight a Dragon's Fury._

* * *

One lonely longship drifted through constellations, navigating between Ursa Minor and Cassiopeia. Starlight above, starlight below, an infinity of sparkling points, stretched further than the eye could spy.

Hiccup could hear a faint tinkling in the background, providing harmonies to the waves lapping against the ship's stern. Though Fishlegs sat scarcely three meters away, Hiccup could barely hear the soft notes his companion played. At times though, the bard would mumble, and these words Hiccup could hear. "…legends of the dragons… dragon legends… myth of the… no, no, none of those are quite right. Mythical beasts of land and sea? Is that too flowery?"

"Working on the epic?" Hiccup asked. He turned his gaze away from the sea to glance at his friend. In the dark, Hiccup could see little but a faint glint off Fishlegs' glasses. It looked like there were two translucent moons floating side-by-side.

Those two moons nodded. "Yeah, but it's not coming along very well." Fishlegs sighed and set his harp on his lap.

"If it makes you feel any better, this business trip isn't going so well for me," said Hiccup. "Part of me hoped that being King would mean more peace between the tribes. Guess not." A groan. He rubbed his forehead, careful not to disturb the crown on his head. "Diplomacy. It's never easy, is it?"

"Life's not easy."

"No, I suppose it isn't."

At that quiet comment, Hiccup glanced back toward the waters. He could not distinguish sea from sky, for the stars glowed just as brightly in the waves as the atmosphere… but when he leaned over the deck of the ship, he could spy his dark reflection lapping in the waters. It was not a kingly sight. Circles below his eyes. A permanent brand above his brow. A burdensome crown upon his head.

Even his reflection appeared exhausted.

He shuddered and pulled his arms about him. The night air's cold crispness suddenly chilled his spine. "I never wanted much in life for myself," said Hiccup morosely, "but it's hard to keep going and going and going and going. I know me and Furious made peace… I just don't feel peaceful. I don't feel like I'm going anywhere sometimes." He let out a hollow laugh. "It doesn't even feel like this _boat_ is going anywhere."

Fishlegs was wordless for a spell. He let his right hand idly pluck at the strings on his lap. They vibrated with his tapping, letting out a contemplative pentatonic reverberation.

"It _does_ look like we aren't going anywhere, doesn't it?" said the king's friend. "We're still sailing through a bunch of stars with endless ocean everywhere. We've been on the ocean with this uninterrupted view for three days. But Hiccup, we're _not_ going nowhere. Or uh, not going anywhere. We're going somewhere? Grammar. Ugh, you know what I mean.

"The thing is, it just _looks_ like we're going nowhere. We're actually going somewhere. Someday, on that horizon, we're going to _suddenly_ see land. And it'll seem like we've gone leaps and bounds all at once!

"But that's not what happened. We slogged through this ocean night and day steadily. We might not have seen the gradual progress, but that doesn't mean the progress didn't happen."

Hiccup stared into his own reflection. He shifted. Stared at Fishlegs. A slow smile pulled on his lips. "You sounded a lot like Old Wrinkly just now, Fishlegs."

"I have you to blame for that. You made me the king's bard. It's because I'm bogged in poetry that I sound like this. If I'm not metaphorical and deep, I'm doing something huge time wrong." Even Fishlegs' punctuating snort sounded sarcastic. Still, there might have been an affectionate eyeroll behind the moonbeam glasses.

"No, no, it was good. What you said was good," said Hiccup. "You're right, you know. We don't feel like we're making progress most of the time. But it doesn't mean we aren't making a difference."

"All your work will pay off. The tribes are going to get better eventually. I mean, they have to, right? They're stupid barbarians who smell like unbathed barnacles and have the patience the size of a snail eye, but I _do_ think they'll get better. It might start with a bath twice a year instead of once a decade, and they might fight once every three hours instead of once every three minutes… but I think your ideas are rubbing off on them."

"Thanks." Hiccup laughed at his friend's creative description of the Vikings. "And you're going to finish that epic. Line by line, you'll get there, too."

Neither found words to speak after that exchange, but they mulled at the others' encouragement. The two reflected on life while studying their reflections in the water.

"We've gotten through some wild things already," Hiccup pointed out at last. His words sliced through silence like a knife. The stars shuddered in the water. "No reason we can't get through this, too. Especially not when we're doing this together. Thanks for coming with me on this trip."

"Anytime." Fishlegs shrugged. "You've always been here for me. I'll return the favor. Besides, we're family."

_We're family._

They might have been distantly related by blood, but their hearts were one. Hiccup smiled.

"You know," Fishlegs piped up, drifting somewhat to a new topic, "I used to be angry that I never got any good family memories growing up. I had a Long-Eared Caretaker Dragon watch me as a baby and a kid. But I never got memories of a mom or a dad or a grandma or even a wacky uncle.

"Looking back, it's nice to remember that you'd come visit me. You decided to help me. And even though we thought we were just friends at the time, it means… it means I have old family memories." He choked a bit on the last few words. "I _do_ have old family memories."

"Oh, Fishlegs…"

He could see his friend's fists tighten at either side. "And so I'm going to keep making more! Suffering scallops, I don't care HOW many arguing tribes or HOW stubborn poetry lines or HOW many unbathed idiots we have to go through! We deserve some good times and we're going to GET them!"

Fishlegs' fist shot to the air in determination.

"WE CAN MAKE SOME GOOD FAMILY TIMES STARTING NOW!"

Hiccup found himself both cheering along and laughing. And he thought, as he turned toward Fishlegs for more amiable conversation, that he saw the shadow of an island approaching from the west.


	26. Balancing Blades

**Balancing Blades [Rating: K]**

An axe shot out like a deadly pinwheel and landed, with a solid thunk, into wood. The weapon's blade dug deep into the center of the target.

"Not bad, not bad," said a tenor voice nonchalantly. Dagur strode out from under shadows, brushing at his breastplate, before brandishing his own weapon. "You've got Berserker blood, I'll give you that. But," and his teeth rose up into a fiendish smile, "watch the master."

With a wild war cry and a gallant hop, Dagur threw his axe forward with all his might. It whisked like a hurricane across the meadow… only to barely tap the target and bounce aside. It landed, with an unpleasant _clunk_, on dirt.

Dagur pouted.

"Uhhhhh… unlucky throw." Heather inched toward her weapon, a good excuse to get away from Dagur, even if for a short moment. She hoped he would not enter a tantrum at this point in time; even after spending several months with him on the dragon hunters' ships, she could not predict his mood swings. Best to skirt to the other side of the practice ring while she watched him fight his disappointment.

That said, he seemed in a fairly good mood today. He simply shrugged and agreed with her assessment. But then the explosion occurred, him shouting out wildly, "AUGH! Savage, you idiot! Bring me back my axe already! Can't you see I have better things to do than wait and grow tired?"

The third and final human in this area, who had been mingling unhappily in the shadows, scrambled like a dog playing fetch. An incredibly _frightened_ dog playing fetch. He stumbled toward the axe, yanked it from the dirt, and nearly flew it back to Dagur.

"You're lucky I'm cutting targets and not necks today!"

_Is this a point where I have to agree with him?_ Heather could feel the weight of her double-axe in hand. She stared down at it, turned away from Dagur and Savage, and hoped they could not see the loathing creeping across her face. She had to pretend to be bloodthirsty. She had to pretend not to care. She had to pretend to enjoy Dagur's company and feel a familial bond. But doing so… made her guts crawl.

By the time Heather returned to Dagur's side, her brother had cooled. She hoped. He at least seemed to be chipper… but then, his moods oscillated like a pendulum. A rather unpredictable pendulum. He was worse than a dragon with a toothache.

"Best two out of three?" Dagur said. "I might even let you win! Hoo ha ha ha ha!"

Forcing a cold voice, she cooed, "Challenge accepted."

She threw again. For a second time in a row, Heather's blade hit dead center.

For a second time in a row, Dagur's axe barely hit target.

She could spy, from the periphery of her vision, Dagur's fingers balling into fists. Cutting in hurriedly, she shouted out, "Hey! That was really good! You're a lot stronger than me, brother."

He started, confused, at the comment.

"You are." Heather nodded toward her brother's bulging muscles. "If this were a distance competition, I'd have no chance."

He seemed to like hearing that. He puffed up a little straighter.

Heather could see Savage staring, a little surprised, from the side. She had long since realized that some individuals, like Savage, naturally set Dagur into a foul mood. Others, like herself, appeared to have a tranquilizing effect. Dagur sometimes became ticked at her, yet he seemed much more even-tempered interacting with her than anyone else on the crew. She still stepped warily around him, fearing an explosion… but… well…

She took a chance and offered Dagur, "If you want, I could show you how to throw more accurately?"

_He better take this well and not get offended…_

"I probably know it all," said Dagur. "Our father taught me _everything_ he knew. Before he, you know, hit the dust. Ahahahahahahahahahaha!" His laugh abrupt cut off. "Show me," he said, suddenly calmer.

"Okay." Heather inhaled and shifted her feet. She pointed down at Dagur's boots, beginning, "You've got a lot of strength, but your balance is slightly off. Try something like…" and she demonstrated, swinging swiftly forward… "this?" Her axe hit the target.

"Hmmm." Dagur stroked his stubble. Then, swinging up his weapon, he imitated.

"Great! Look, that was already better!"

Dagur was laughing. Heather could not _believe_ she successfully gave her brother advice without irritating him. "Look at us!" he was shouting jubilantly instead. He lunged forward, grabbed at her head, and before she protested, started in on a rough noogie. "Brother and sister, working together like this! If we keep this up, we could be unstoppable!"

She stumbled out of the noogie. Gods, but she already had a headache. Forcing up a smile, she said, cumbersomely, "Heh. Yeah. Yeah, unstoppable. That's us, brother. Those stupid dragon riders don't have a chance." She believed her last sentence sounded convincingly dark.

He laughed. "That's what I like about you, Heather. So cold, so strong, so mighty, always after what's important. You get me. Who knew you'd be so ready to throttle Hooligans, just like me?"

_Just like you… right…_

He grabbed her again, and leaned in closely. She could smell his putrid breath. "Those dragon hunters?" he whispered. "They aren't like us. They don't get us. I _haaaaaate_ Ryker. Absolutely hate him. Don't you hate him?"

"Yeah?"

"The way he treated you! Unacceptable! I showed him!" Dagur looked like he could have bitten into Ryker's arm right then and there, the way he was baring his teeth.

But Heather… paused. She looked at her brother. The wild glint in his green eyes. The tensed neck and bulging biceps. The snarl on his lips.

She remembered what he had said that day. Not so much as what Ryker said, but how Dagur had responded.

_"Let me put it another way: if you touch one hair on my sister's head, I'll run you through and wear your rib cage as my battle armor."_

It was… sweet… in a savage sort of way.

As much as usually Heather tried to distance herself from Dagur, and let pretend be pretend, she could tell… he legitimately cared for her. He legitimately _cared_.

She found herself relaxing. The thick arm curled around her shoulder no longer felt so obtrusive.

"Thanks for that, by the way," she murmured. For once, Heather did not have to pretend around Dagur. Every word, every emotion, that leaked from her lips she truly felt. She _did_ feel grateful for Dagur's defense. "I didn't have the chance to thank you before…"

"Sh sh sh sh." Dagur placed a thick finger on Heather's lips. "You're my sister. You're family. That's the biggest bond anyone can share, you know? I didn't realize how much I was missing until you came back! I'd rip _anyone's_ rib cage for you."

Despite herself, she laughed. "Well, um, thanks." She looked up at him, fidgeted with her hair, and continued smiling. It was a little bit of a lopsided smile, but it felt natural enough. "And I guess I can't rip anyone's ribs out myself…" she would neither have the stomach for it, nor the conscience, nor the strength "… but I guess, uh… I'm… th-there for you?"

Her stomach didn't roil. She didn't feel like she was lying. _Do I actually mean it?_ she thought in surprise. _Would I actually help _him_?_

She saw him laughing as he strode toward his axe.

He had defended her.

He wasn't _entirely_ bad…

He had some redeemable traits, and that laugh _was_ bit infectious…

Wow. She was still undercover for the dragon riders. She would still have to do what needed to be done. But…

…well…

…maybe she could find fun for this _one_ day with him.

She raced after Dagur for another round of target practice. So much for avoiding him. Today, she would enjoy and accept the company her sibling offered.


	27. Thawfest Training

**Thawfest Training [Rating: K]**

He could pretend he wasn't nervous. Could ignore the sweat beading at his forehead beneath his helmet, could pretend his heart pounded at a normal tempo, could pretend the fists clenched at his sides conveyed determination and not anxiety.

He could pretend he wasn't nervous. And in fact such charading came easily to him. Snotlout know how to boast confidence, how to exude an outwardly cocky front – as he lived it every day. Yet for all Snotlout felt comfortable feigning self-assurance, it was a whole other matter to actually _feel_ self-assured.

Today, Snotlout's guts twisted in complex knots and his head swayed from lightheaded fear. Nervousness choked his throat and clenched his gut.

"You've got this," he muttered to himself. Snotlout jogged in place, rubbing his hands together before his brows in tense anticipation. He continued spewing the mantra he had been spewing for the last few minutes. "A Jorgenson never loses. A Jorgenson never loses. A Jorgenson never loses."

And then in a brazen brazen war cry, he shrieked out, "SNOTLOUT SNOTLOUT, OI OI OI!"

He charged.

At the signal, heavy logs rumbled straight for him. Dive. Jump. Sidestep. Lunge. He hurtled over rolling tree trunks, dodged past shrubs, ducked behind boulders, raced toward the finish. His vision juddered at the fast-paced dexterity. He could barely see the obstacles which bowled toward him from higher on the hill – he only reacted, constantly rushing forward. He did not slow. Up, up, up he charged, legs pumping, fists clenched, eyes set on the prize. Almost there…

He threw himself toward Hookfang's claws, tumbled, and came to a rest at his dragon's toes. Dust puffed up about him.

He had reached the top of the hill.

Finish.

"SNOTLOUT!" he hooted in victory.

Hookfang snorted, turned aside from the logs he had been shoving down the incline, and leaned in toward his rider. Snotlout did not rise from the ground. He did, however, notice that several of the remaining trunks resting aside Hookfang… were smoking. Typical. It would have been just like this dragon to set the hill ablaze.

Despite the successful obstacle run, Snotlout could still feel nervousness clawing inside his stomach. Of course he did. His father had well-trained Snotlout to dodge obstacles like tumbling logs, and Snotlout had mastered the ability years ago. This entire exercise, an unneeded debacle, simply tore time away from what Snotlout actually needed to practice.

He looked to Hookfang's saddle.

A powerful wave of nervousness ate at his guts.

He could try denying it all he liked, but Snotlout understood that, if he were to win this year's competition, he would need to improve his skills on the back of a dragon.

Hookfang huffed, as though understanding his rider's latest thought, and challenging Snotlout to climb on his back.

_A Jorgenson never loses. A Jorgenson never loses._

He had almost lost last year…

The horrid thought finally propelled Snotlout into Hookfang's saddle. He could not experience his father's disappointment again.

"Okay okay okay! Fine. I'll do it, you stupid dragon," Snotlout grumbled. "Time to ride."

* * *

He hurtled to water. One moment, the world rushed in nauseating streaks of browns and grays – the next, he plunged into ocean, slowing into a floating world of dark and murky blues. He kicked his feet to the gleaming surface and gasped for breath. Salt water stung unpleasantly against his taste buds; he found himself coughing.

"Ugh! You dumb dragon!" he moaned when he finally quit coughing and swallowed up some air. "Third time in a row you've dropped me!"

Hookfang slowly descended from the skies. Whereas before the dragon had appeared chastened by the mistake, a different countenance shimmered in his eyes. Irritation. When Snotlout reached toward the saddle and began to alight on the dragon's back, Hookfang intentionally corkscrewed and dropped his rider – a fourth time – into the water.

_"__Hookfaaaaaang!"_

Mirrored glares.

"What does it take to get you to cooperate? I'm not going to lose this! You're not going to make me lose!"

The dragon had once again neared his rider, flapping beside the drenched head bobbing in the ocean. Snotlout lunged for the saddle and held on with all his might. He almost slipped simply from the wetness of his hands. Fingers flopped for a moment. However, Snotlout finally managed to cling on and return to a seated position on Hookfang's back, hunching in low, knees pressed in firmly on either side. "We're going to keep doing this until you get this right. I'm going to _win_ this Thawfest, you hear me!?"

* * *

Hookfang _refused_ to cooperate.

The dragon would not budge, let alone shoot a burst of flame for their needed target practice. For the past twenty minutes – if not longer – the dragon had simply stood there, as though on a strike, glaring at the targets and not moving his jaw an inch.

"What is wrong with you today?" Snotlout moaned, pacing on the ground beside his stubborn Nightmare. "You like blasting things. When there's Outcasts around, we usually do such a good job shooting them d…"

Snotlout paused.

He stared, wide-eyed, embarrassed, at the Nightmare.

"Oh," he said.

_A Jorgenson never loses._

"Oh."

Once the words had slipped out of his mouth, Snotlout understood. _When there's Outcasts around,_ we_ usually do such a good job shooting them down._

We.

_A Jorgenson never loses._

But this year, a Jorgenson would not win.

"Hooky," Snotlout said, clasping his hands together, "Do you want to practice so that _we_ can win Thawfest this year?"

The dragon responded with an enthusiastic roar. He opened wide his jaws. A torch of flame shot out from his mouth, streaked across the arena, and landed dead center on the target.

Snotlout's face turned into a grin.

They would be a team. They would work together. They would _win_ together. It was not about Snotlout – it was about a boy and a dragon, riding together in the skies.

"SNOTFANG! SNOTFANG! OI OI OI!"


	28. He Who Controls the Dragons

**He Who Controls the Dragons [Rating: K+ for brief blood]**

Hiccup could feel his heart thrumming against his armor. The entire breastplate reverberated in sympathy with his beating heart, such that Hiccup's entire torso vibrated with his nervousness. His gut clenched beneath it all. Sweat rubbed unpleasantly beneath his tunic, and not just because he had been fighting.

_Fear._

He would not turn aside. He had made his decision.

But this did not make his choice any easier to enact.

Slowly, Hiccup swung his left prosthetic forward, then his right foot. One step. Another. He tread toward the war general standing in an unpopulated hole at the center of the battlefield.

Drago caught his eye. The second he did so, Hiccup pulled off his helmet and deliberately dropped it to the ground. "I've come to talk," he said.

Hiccup had expected Drago to appear strong, mighty, powerful, resilient. The general certainly delivered in all those respects. Yet Hiccup had not expected to see _such_ a daunting mountain of a man, such a harsh face, covered with scars and a glare that could scar souls.

The man merely laughed at Hiccup's words. He released the sound in a low, throaty chuckle which sounded equally mocking as amused. Drago swung his own feet forward with a curious expression on his face. Just as Hiccup examined Bludvist, so did Bludvist peer and examine the young man before him.

"This is the great Dragon Master? The son of Stoick the Vast?"

Hiccup swallowed. He forced himself to speak loudly, evenly, boldly. The more confident Hiccup projected himself, the more likely Drago would pay him heed.

And Drago needed to pay him heed if this plan would work.

"I am." Two syllables, slowly uttered, each with resolution. Another step forward. "I'm here to make a deal with you."

Drago's eyebrows might have moved upward a fraction of an inch. His smile certainly widened. Bemused, Bludvist questioned, "And why do you think I'd want a deal?"

"Why a dragon army?" Hiccup said. He remembered the narrative his father had told of twenty years past. Of Drago's proposal for power. Of his statement he alone could control the dragons. Of his treacherous retaliation when the other chiefs laughed - killing the noncompliant with armored beasts. "You need dragons to control other people."

Drago chuckled. "Clever boy." Hiccup's deduction did not seem to worry him, though. He proceeded forward, pacing around Hiccup, examining the boy head to toe. Much to Hiccup's worry, the war lord appeared amused rather than serious about Hiccup's proposal. But at least he had Bludvist's attention.

He had convinced others. He would convince Drago.

It would save Berk.

_Fear._

"There's one problem with that," continued Hiccup. He stared Drago straight in the eye. "I know how to control dragons, too."

Toothless, who had been sitting, quiet and tense, in the background, burbled from the periphery.

"So long as I'm free, you can't control dragons, and you can't control the people. I'll be here, in a free village with hundreds of dragons that you cannot take. That's going to be a big thorn in your side, and you know it."

Was that… an actual glare on Drago's face now?

_I got his attention._

Deep breath.

_Fear._

"I have a solution," answered Drago in his gruff voice. He was eyeing Toothless now, in an expression far from pleasant. Hiccup shuddered. "I win this battle. I go to Berk. I win a battle there, and I take your dragons."

"There's an easier way." _This is it._ No turning back now. Hiccup opened his mouth. Spoke. "Take me."

Drago was squinting now, not smiling. He had finally reached Hiccup and towered over him. The massive man leaned forward, exhaling his pungent breath on Hiccup's cheeks, and stared straight into the Hooligan's eyes.

Calculatingly, and with no little suspicion, Drago asked, "You'd give yourself up?"

_It's not going to happen._ Hiccup had worried what would happen if he succeeded in his plan. But the alternative... he feared it even worse. He was losing Drago - if the war lord distrusted him, he would make no deal.

But Hiccup did not have to force the bold determination in his voice with his answer.

"Yes."

Hopefully that would be enough.

It was hard to maintain eye contact. It was hard not to step back. All he could see were Drago's cold, cold eyes, and he continued to stare... for his friends' lives were dependent on it.

Drago took a step back himself. And just as the conversation started, so it ended: with Drago laughing.

With a wide grin, the warlord finalized, "I accept."

He had done it. Hiccup had done it. His plan had succeeded.

But though the unlikely had come to pass, Hiccup did not feel relief.

He felt even greater fear.

* * *

Wrists bound behind him, Hiccup stepped onto the deck of Drago's flagship. Three soldiers - one ahead, two behind - led him toward Drago, who already stood in the center of the area. The entire structure of the ship, from rudder to figurehead, from port to starboard, from hull to mast, was resplendent in spikes and harsh angles. Efficient and well-structured as the vessel seemed to be, its construction also doubled as an intimidating display of harshness and hate. Hiccup could feel the climate of the army from the deck alone.

Though Hiccup and Drago had agreed on the deal, the war lord apparently still wished to speak to him. The guards circled around Hiccup, keeping him in place as Drago approached. The man stopped several yards away and stared down at the Hairy Hooligan.

He asked one question.

"You think you do Berk a great service, don't you?" said Drago.

Only a question. Just a question. A question with a simple answer. Yet as soon as Drago uttered those words, Hiccup realized… he had made a mistake.

_Toothless!_ But Toothless would not be near. Toothless would be safely inside Valka's sanctuary, safe with his mother, safe with his father, safe with Astrid and Ruffnut and Tuffnut and Snotlout and Fishlegs. Everyone safe… but him.

Hiccup wished he could back up, even just a few inches, to place distance between himself and his captor. Yet with the guard standing right behind him, so close Hiccup could feel his hairs shift as the man breathed, he could only stand stationed as he was, and cringe.

This Hiccup knew: nothing good could come from what would come next.

Drago kept a straight face as he continued speaking. "You thought you'd protect your village that way. I've seen it before, different tribes, different people, but the same motivation. Sacrifice yourself to keep your loved ones unharmed. It never works."

"You have what you need though. You're the only one who controls dragons now," Hiccup jumped up, hopefully not too quickly.

"It never works," Drago repeated. "You aren't the only one who flies dragons in your village. The girl I captured first, she rode dragons, too."

_Fear._

No…

_Terror._

"You call yourself 'Dragon Master,' but you aren't your only tribe's dragon rider. Capturing you does not save your village, because I still need to control Berk's dragons."

And he turned to the front of the ship, and shouted out, "Head for Berk! We will take them next!"

With one last glance at Hiccup, he said, quieter, but this with grave authority, "Your deal means nothing to me. Kill him."

Hiccup had no time to react. Not to jump. Not to dodge. Not to gasp. Not even to blink.

It came from the back.

There was blood.

He saw red.

Then gray.

Then nothing at all.


	29. The Next Morning

**The Next Morning [Rating: K]**

When morning arrived, he heard nothing. Not the typical gargantuan snores characterizing the chiefly beast downstairs - those had been replaced by the soft, undisturbing breaths of his mother. He did not wake to those quiet exhales. Nor did he wake to the typical nudging, pestering, and roaring of a dragon wishing to start the day. He woke to nothing, for the room was uncharacteristically silent; only after the sunlight had long been streaming in his bedroom, dancing across the floor and up the bed covers and into his eyes, did he finally stir.

Hiccup blearily blinked, mind fogged, at the sunlight-streaming window. Wordless, half-coherent confusion slogged through his mind. After processing his senses for a solid minute, Hiccup finally found enough mental fortitude to ask, _What?_ Another minute more, and his thoughts were sharp enough to wonder, _How did I sleep in so late?_ Judging from the angle of the light slipping into his room, the morning was more than half over. He had not slept so long, so late, in years. Where was Toothless, and why had no one woken him up? It was _…oh gods… oh gods... _his first full day as chief.

This thought knocked enough life into him he swung out of bed. Fatigued as he still felt, his mind could not resume sleep now, and he felt the pressing need to see to his new duties. Anxiety fluttered in his chest. He did not know if he were ready for this. Just give him one calm quiet day before the storm to process this, and maybe - maybe - he could handle it better.

When he stumbled downstairs he found breakfast already prepared. He completely ignored it, opting to dodge his mother's cooking for safety and sanity. Hungry as he felt, his stomach recoiled at the sight of the might-have-been food laid out at the table; he would need to find something edible later.

First, though, to work.

Gobber looked Hiccup in the eye and pulled out a cheeky grin. He swung his hammer repeatedly as he went about repairs. "Oh no, no, you keep going along," he insisted. "I've got everything all taken care of in the shop. What's left of the shop. Um. No, no, I mean it, you've got better things to be doing, chief, than helping me with a little construction." As much as Hiccup glanced skeptically at his old family friend - there seemed more than enough work for the entire village here, if even that number of people would be enough service - but Gobber shooed Hiccup off, and would not allow the chief to serve as apprentice again.

It made sense from a status quo perspective. So, shrugging, and seeking off other important duties, Hiccup continued around blocks of ice and hard working Vikings.

Phlegma shooed him along as well. So did Mulch, and, with Mulch's assistance, Bucket, too. Even Spitelout grumbled an excuse to deny Hiccup a task. "I'm a _Jorgenson._ Of _course_ I've got this."

Snotlout said, "Okay, no, for once in my life, I've got this, okay? Let me do this, Hiccup. …I - I can still call you Hiccup, right?"

Fishlegs said, "Maybe there are other things y-you could be doing? M-m-maybe?"

Tuffnut, hard at work with Barf, Belch, and his sister, said, "No offense, Hic, but we're the mountain carving master minds of this tribe. Not you. You stay out of this unless you want your father's nose to look like… well, less of a nose! Maybe more of a _barrel_ or something, and I don't think you want _that_." He and his sister insisted upon monopolizing the new construction project for Stoick's statue, leaving Hiccup again to seek out work.

So much for the chief attending to many tasks. This was not even chiefly supervising. This was being blocked from productivity from every citizen on the island.

Valka smiled up at Hiccup with something knowing twinkling in her eye. She refused to state what it was, yet clearly had formed some planned agenda for the day. "Maybe tomorrow," she answered noncommittally, when he asked if he could help her with her duties. "Not today."

He could have insisted.

He _was_ chief.

His village was in disaster.

They _needed_ help… well… everywhere.

But when he stumbled into Astrid, who seemed just as lost, just as confused, just as listless, just as off-guard…

He understood.

"Ruffnut and Tuffnut just told me they were going to work today and not _me_!" she exclaimed, waving her hands wildly in Hiccup's direction with wide-eyed bafflement. She must have been taking lessons from her boyfriend in exaggerated gesticulation. Her motions toward the broken village were wild and adamant. "Did I wake up in an alternate archipelago? Is there something I'm missing? Because _that_ is something I never thought I'd see the day!"

"No, I - I believe you." Hiccup reached up behind his head and scratched at his hair. Wow, was even _Toothless_ in on this conspiracy? He began to piece together all the events of the day, starting with his late morning rise. They began to fall into place. "The twins told me the same thing. _Snotlout_ even refused help."

"Wow."

A collapsed village, littered in ice and torn timbers, worked tirelessly to reestablish their homes. One young couple stood at the edge of it, not participating, though not by choice.

"You know what? Its obvious they don't want our help today." Hiccup began to stomp back to his house. Astrid darted after him and grabbed his hand, even though she did not quite understand his intended trajectory or purpose. "Just like everyone obviously wants, we're taking the day off. They set this date up. We might as well take it. How's a flight around the island sound?"

* * *

Tree branches waved in a soft breeze. Ocean waves slowly lapped in and out of shore, while sea stacks, in the distance, stood impenetrable and still.

They sat together, resting, and staring over the landscape from a high elevation. Their dragons distracted themselves in the distance.

Astrid leaned up against Hiccup's shoulder.

"From here, it doesn't look like anything bad happened to Berk, does it?" she wondered.

A quiet response. "No."

He plucked at a piece of grass.

She glanced at him.

"Okay, what is it?"

"Hm?"

"Oh come on. What's on your mind, Hiccup? That grass has been more interesting than our conversation for the last ten minutes."

He sighed and forced his hands to drop the thin green blade.

"Just a few days ago… we were talking," he said, "about me not understanding my identity. How I needed to search for it," and he tapped his chest, multiple times, "here. You were right. It was here. I found it. Maybe… ah… not the way I wanted to… but…"

She leaned in closer, hugging onto his arm in wordless sympathy and understanding.

"Here. Here it is," he stammered in conclusion. "I guess." He was chief now, a chief who could build the bridge between humans and dragons. That was who he was. Who he had to be - for everyone.

Astrid sighed first. Then she pulled herself up, a little, to reach Hiccup's cheek. She placed a soft peck on the left side before murmuring, "We've got your back, Hiccup. Everyone believes in you. It might not be the best day of our lives, but we're going to get through this, and you're going to do just fine." She gave him a soft sock on the chest, though the fist tapped him so lightly he barely felt it. Her words, however, were determined. "_I've_ got your back."

He turned his gaze away from the grass, away from the gorgeous view, and stared deep into her blue eyes. They did not move for a long while; the only motion Hiccup made was to tweak his lips in a small, toothless smile.

"I know you do," he said, in means of thanks. "And I couldn't do it without you."

The breeze picked up a little, but the two felt calmer now. Hiccup found himself relaxing against Astrid's shoulder; he found his left hand intertwining with the fingers of her right; he found the two of them enjoying the moment together, gazing out into the sea, and relishing in the wordless but entirely comfortable company. Morning gave way to afternoon, and still they sat there, together, in the calm.

It would be alright.

It would be alright so long as they had each other.


	30. Silent Storm

**Silent Storm [Rating: K]**

She was seated near the edge of the cliff side, staring out at the ocean, with her arms curled around and hugging her legs. Cold, gray waters lapped against a cold, gray horizon. The entire atmosphere brooded about Heather, and from the looks of the expression on her face, she was brooding, too.

She did not even glance upward when Astrid strode toward her. For all Astrid could tell, Heather did not hear her companion trod forward and slowly ease herself down. Astrid gently sat down to Heather's left, and did nothing but stare at the ocean, too, peer out at the waters and try to contemplate their coldness as Heather was so doing.

Yet at last Astrid spoke. She could not concentrate on this current dour weather; she could not focus on it; she could only focus her attention on Heather. Her friend was quiet, as always – but it was no doubt that Heather had been more quiet than custom this last week.

This last week.

The week since Dagur had died.

Everyone on the Edge had been sober and stagnant, but none moreso than Heather.

"Hey," Astrid murmured, breaking the silence. Her voice smoothly slid on top of mulling ocean waves. It was time. It was time to see what was on Heather's mind. Time to understand what her friend was feeling… and help, if she could.

"Um. Hey there." It was not much of a response. Heather glanced downward and pulled a hand off her knee. She used it to pluck idly at the grass beside her, staring carefully at the blade rather than paying any heed to Astrid.

Astrid continued. "Cloudy day," she remarked. "Looks like a storm is coming, huh?"

"Probably."

Another lapse into silence.

"Are you… are you doing okay?" She cringed as soon as she said it. Yet sometimes Heather needed a direct approach.

Heather cringed in turn. Even with her obviously discomfited physical response, though, Heather only spoke out loud, "Yeah. I'm fine." It sounded a little defensive.

Alright then. More bluntness. "No, you're not." Astrid stared worriedly at Heather. "You've hardly spoken six words in a week. You're barely eating, and when you do, it's not with the group. You're always alone in your room. Heather, I _know_ you're not feeling okay."

The ocean became an intense object of study.

A whisper, barely slipped out. "It's him, isn't it?"

"Look, Astrid, I know you're trying to help –" at last Heather was acknowledging her "– and – and it's not that I don't appreciate it. I mean. I just… I guess. Just… please. _Please. _I don't want to talk about this."

Pain smothered Heather's green irises. Her pupils had become clouded in… was that grief? For Dagur?

Astrid had not anticipated that.

She could not press for details and explanation, though. She understood, too, the need for silence. There had been many times in life where Astrid would have hated to vocalize her struggles aloud. Sometimes it helped to vent her frustrations. Other times, discussion only wrenched the heart worse.

She could trust Heather's judgment.

"Okay," she said. Astrid nodded. "That's fine. You don't need to talk. But I'm here to help if you need help. Believe me... I'll help anywhere."

With a small smile passing over her lips, Heather responded, "Thanks."

There was nothing more for Astrid to say. There was nothing more Astrid could try. Yet she could still do one more action. One more important action.

She sat there, next to Heather, staring silently out at the ocean beside her. Maybe her friend could not bear to speak of last week's death. Yet Heather would not ride through this storm alone.

Increasingly angry thunderheads rumbled above the two women, yet they continued to stare out from the cliff side. Even when rain began slapping down on their shoulders and faces, they remained.

Through even the worst storms, she would not leave her.

Astrid would not leave Heather's side.


End file.
